I wasn’t intending to go for a run this morning, but the clear morning sun flooding my windows was more of a lure than I could ignore.

In late October, my orbital tilt puts the sun further to the south, so my run is largely shaded.  The bits of the road which are touched by the morning light are sensuous, though the sun lacks the warmth I so love.

The fields are spent and absent is the heavy, damp verdant smell of loam and life.

Barns shiver a bit in the chill morning air, snuggling deeper into an autumnal cloak of fire roasted colours.

The calls of chickadees glide under drifts of woodsmoke and crows stand sentinel along the route, always eager for conversation. Alerting others to my passing, each crow shares an early morning greeting with me.

A rusty lane leads wetly to a place of pork no more.  The slippery slurpy clay calls to my piggies.

Often I meditate while I run.

The running is a meditative posture.  This morning I was present in the breeze, the chilled soles of my feet, the brilliance of a coy sun playing amidst the clouds, the low of cattle, the warm autumn colours.

The breeze played in the falling leaves and created a musical shimmy in pine needles.

When I returned from the run, I walked around the yard. I found October making love to a burning bush, she is engorged and sexy sprawling in her boudoir.  I love her, for she is bawdily lustful and sassy.

Coming up the laneway, I made a video.  I walk my lane at the beginning of each run as a warm up and at the end as a cool down. The video lacks a plot line and a leading lady, so I won’t mind so much if you pass on it.  My feet are loving their freedom and growing ever more adventurous.

 

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