i have run four times since the last post. i am grateful for this consistency afforded by this tragedy called covid19.  my days are different. the places i spend time are different. this is the case for so many of us.


the strongest winds yet of my recent running adventures. i did not notice them. not because this work of embracing the winds — my winds — has come to fruition, but because my internal winds were raging.  my head on a loop replaying, reimagining, reifying a series of events in my life.  i would, by moments, notice this and shake it away, but i was drawn back in without noticing.

i ran further than i intended.  the internal storyline stronger than my ability to notice my turnaround point.

101940196_1748808758592637_5045965275715862528_ni was finally drawn out of my head when i noticed a mama fox and her two young ones inside the treeline. the two fuzzy cubs came tumbling down the bank to the ditch when they heard me approach. mama stayed back, vigilant in her supervision.  one of the cubs immediately climbed back up to mama, but the other, with breakfast in mouth, ran with gleeful pride i assumed, in the ditch along side me for about 100m before veering off into the trees.

it was so easy to settle back into my heart after this encounter.  woman who runs with the foxes.


102957559_594905741143782_2889852222374412288_nanother chilly breeze day, but one i could pace into with a settled heart.  birds and blooms, and overcast skies.  robins drawing worms from the damp earth as if quilting the landscape and slugs stretching long across the pavement.

i was coming in and out of the presence of this run, lapsing into short reveries about the spaces that surrounded me, brief thoughts of the day ahead.

at my turnaround point, a large dog i did not see gallumping down a laneway toward me, broadsided me, knocking me off balance but not off my feet.  he jumped repeatedly on me, not responding to any commands and as his owner eventually made his way down the lane, the dog did not respond to his commands either.  i caught his collar and handed him over.  my hands smelled of dog mouth, you know that smell?  and my clothing was striped with manure. i was irritated for a few minutes, trying to get back into a rhythm of feet on asphalt, smooth breath in and out. i adapted to the odours and headed home.

run interrupted.


out a bit later than usual, hoping for a couple of extra degrees of warmth. not so much in luck — long sleeves, long pants in the brisk air. asphalt underfoot throwing off frosty feels.

traffic.  as the province reduces covid restrictions, traffic has picked up.  i run on the road as there is no paved shoulder, dodging offside just as needed but with trepidation and vigilance for the tossed remains of people’s passings. oh, that sounds hilariously macabre. so many toss garbage — beer bottles, pop cans, fast food detritus — from their car windows, making barefoot running offside, where i cannot always see what is there, a bit dangerous.  as the second car passes and the wish that they were not there crosses my mind for the second time, i find a chuckle and pause, internally, a moment, to take myself more lightly. i am running on the road. what should i expect.

traffic. wind. dogs. gurus for my journey.


warm. humid.  a tropical breeze and asphalt like in-floor heating on a late autumn day.

all the quiet today. so very lovely. little thought, lots of sensing, words and labels arising as i type this.

101989535_4156160834408991_6834478443334205440_na wee bit of distance added to this slow run day.  breezes carrying spring smells. delicate apple blossoms on roadside trees, wild strawberry flowers, fresh fields, lilacs finally opening.  the rain of yesterdays coaxing a verdant landscape into lush greens, too many shades to name.  butterflies flitting, bright delights to my eyes.  the birds harmonizing with the wind and a distant dog barking. sheep and horses and cattle, cats, and all manner of creatures. the sound of my breath and the beating of my heart, louder on that hill-to-me.

the crunch of gravel as i head back home. i catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the side porch windows and think i look like an old woman who thinks she runs.

102563898_2669639033314675_4473349129027715072_ni am exactly that.

i am as nowhere as i can be.  ~ the avett brothers