Midnight, and I should be sleeping. How I feel the need to keep typing after doing transcription this entire day is baffling to me. Too much on my mind?
I'm packing up years of living during the next couple of weeks. Throwing out things that have sat waiting for that event for too long. Packing away books and games. Wondering if they will be stored for the rest of my lifetime or if I'll find the energy, one day, to open the boxes in which they reside.
I run every morning now. My feet know every inch of the trail I've traversed for the past two decades. It's August. The baby hawks are now adults, circling in the blue sky as I run below. Most of the wildflowers are gone. Yellow clover persists in its blossoming, along with some red-petaled daisies. Occasionally, the intense blue of my favorite flax flowers shows. Their season finished with July, but a few of the plants forgot to stop blooming. Grasshoppers with colorful wings leap in front of my feet. Shiny black beetles and spiders scurry from me. The prairie grass is long now, and golden.
Soon I will run here no more. Will I miss it? Tolkien Boy asked me this a long time ago. And the answer is yes, but this has never been my home. I'm not sure there is a place for me anywhere. For now, I will savor the moments I have left before I move to a new place.
In the new place there will be times when air quality will preclude running outside. A track or treadmill in a gym will be my new haven. No hawks. No wildflowers. No prairie grass. I think I will miss it then.