Friday, May 18, 2012
that is not a typo. there is not that comfort. there will not be silence or sadness or the things that occupy emptiness when happiness runs dry. it's a space. there will be no televised alliteration.
when cracks in the pavement wrap around tires like awkward hugs, not knowing when to let go, and always doing it too soon or too late, momentum slips away in jagged pieces, defaulting to halted rejection. i didn't write about it, because it was happening. it's all been happening, and i've been looking for space, to let things ruminate and germinate and then reach some level of status. alas, it's been a big month.
there are things to enjoy on a daily basis, and there are things to document and write about after it's all come back together into some semblance of words that might capture an essence of what was. the little girl asking, before dinner, to head out into the alleyway so that she can ride her bike. the big one reading, with utter fascination, about how geckos and some snakes like their eyes to clean them because they don't have eyelids, but scales instead. the scales on the eyes are shed with the rest of the skin. i'm sure there's a poem in that somewhere, but i'll have to drink about it first.
yesterday, i rode my beautiful road bike 60k to coach a bunch of track and field youth in their individual instances of pain. the sun shone. the wind blew. the track brought glory and defeat and sometimes both. there was a tailwind and a headwind and a burn in the legs. then i got to run 8k. i did it with music because i knew i would need all the help i could muster to make the distance. i needed it. it helped. i made it. and i wondered how i would ever do this for 12k in july, in the rockies, without music. i wondered how i would make it through the duathlon in july. there is much to do.
there is more to write.