On the Cusp

That we are on the cusp of a new season became manifestly clear to me as I ran down the Farmington Canal Trail in Hamden this afternoon. I had my dog Ginger with me and the first thing we encountered as we trotted on the pavement was a pile of poop. I saw the pile at about the same time that Ginger smelled it and we both noticed something peculiar that made us slow down and 1) take a closer look, (me), and 2) take a deeper whiff, (Ginger). Being olfactorally challenged myself, I can’t say what Ginger noticed. What I saw was a bleached-out, grayish pile of crap with small slivers of bone and bits of teeth and fur embedded.

I am pretty sure it was coyote scat. In fact, a few months ago, back when the sun was setting at 4:30, I saw a coyote cross the trail as I was running very near this exact spot. It was probably the same individual that left his calling card there on the trail. As I finished my examination of the poop and Ginger strained at the leash to be allowed to continue hers, the cloud that had been blocking the sun blew a little farther south. The change was stunning. The air got ten degrees warmer and I looked up to see a deep blue sky punctuated by dramatic dark grey clouds.
Where even just five weeks ago the woods were relentlessly brown, tan, and grey, there were now patches of vibrant green where the skunk cabbages were unfurling their flags and staking out their yearly claim as earliest bloomers.

We ran on and Ginger became reluctant. First she slowed and then she stopped dead. I looked to the left and there were four large wild turkeys in a clearing about thirty feet off the trail. Something about them freaked Ginger out a bit. What I noticed was the flash of bright red coming from their wattles. It stood out like the little girl in red in Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List.

I managed to drag Ginger on and not even a half mile down the trail an Eastern Bluebird flew directly in front of us and landed on a branch just off the side of the path. If you have never seen an Eastern Bluebird, then no matter what words I use to name the color, you will not be able to picture it accurately enough to do it justice. What comes to mind is the image of an avian black hole, only the bird somehow manages to gather only blue from all around and then, instead of swallowing the blue, it reflects the most amazing shade back out to the world. It really was spectacular.



And now this may sound like piling on—like I am making this stuff up—but I swear it is true. Just then an osprey flew overhead and it was clutching a fish in its talons, heading to its nest to feed its young. The bird flew low enough that I could tell that the fish was still alive.

By this point in the run I was aware that the place I had spent three days a week all winter, running alone through rain or sleet or snow or ice or shine, was waking up to spring. There were more people, more birds, more plants, and more life than there had been in many months. And I must admit that I had mixed feelings about the whole deal. Part of me really liked having that trail and those woods to myself. If it took cold temperatures and icy footing to do it, so be it. I certainly won’t begrudge spring its chance to shine. In fact, I love the signs of color and life everywhere. But I think maybe I just wasn’t quite ready yet.

That run today went a long way to getting me ready, but it also performed a valuable service for me. It gave me a chance to see the trail almost as I have seen it all winter with its greys, tans, and browns. But sprinkled right on top, so startlingly as to be almost garish, were the colors and signs of spring.

I ran a little farther—to the point right around mile 5.5 where the trail goes under a road—to where I had seen a hawk perched much of the winter. I used to imagine that the hawk was waiting stoically for spring and whatever came with it. Today, the hawk was gone. But in the understory of shrubs and bushes there was a brilliant flash of red and a sharp series of chirps. I caught sight of a male cardinal—resplendent in the crimsonest crimson there is as he sang for a potential mate. He was fidgety and loud and certainly IMpatient to get things started. He looked me in the eye much the same way the hawk had just a few short weeks ago during a heavy snowfall. Only, the cardinal wasn’t preaching patience. His chattering call seemed to say, “What are you waiting for?”

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

I have been running on the Farmington Canal trail through Hamden a lot recently. Isabel has gymnastics class several times a week and the trail is a short drive from her gym. This gives me two or three excellent opportunities in the midst of an often-busy workweek to get out and run four or five miles without feeling like I should be somewhere else, doing something else.

Since the New Year, I have seen the same hawk, perched in the same tree, each time I have run the trail. The time of day is always the same, the tree is always the same, and the bird is always the same. I am not really sure how I even saw it the first time. It sits so still and its mottled feathers match the bark of the trunk it tucks up against so perfectly that it is sometimes hard to spot, even though I now know exactly where to look.

I have gotten to the point that I now stop and say hi to the bird. (My daughter thinks this is slightly crazy.)

Each time I have run the trail these past three weeks, it has been cold and often it has been snowy. There have been very few other humans out there in that oddly beautiful little valley running through some fairly developed neighborhoods near some heavily trafficked roads. I have had a lot of time and space and quiet to let my mind wander the way it will during a good run.

Where my mind has wandered lately is to the idea of “change.” New Year’s resolutions are all about making changes. Barack Obama ran hard on the notion of making necessary changes. My wife and I have been contemplating what sorts of changes to make in our lives.

Yet, the status quo has such power and things can feel so frozen.

As I run through that valley and hear the stream gurgling through the snow-covered rocks, it feels like winter will not end. Actually, that doesn’t quite explain the feeling. Rather than winter not ever ending, it feels as if the changes the Earth and Sun need to go through to make winter turn to spring will never happen. It is not a feeling of hopelessness, but rather one of powerlessness. Spring absolutely WILL happen. There is just nothing I can do to make it happen any sooner. And as a result, winter feels like the permanent state of affairs.

A few days ago I thought about getting the hawk’s opinion on this idea but when I stopped to try, one look at him told me he would not understand. One look at him told me that he is patience personified, (or should I say “avified?) That hawk would not want to make spring come any sooner. That hawk is waiting. It is what he does. He waits. Spring comes.

Saved By Zero

Erica has been out of town for the week and as a result I have been living my days close to the bone. There is not a lot of wiggle room in my schedule, what with work and a daughter and a dog. It feels as if each moment is already accounted for before I even get out of bed. As a result, I have not had any time to run. No time to think, either.

Until today, that is. Today I made time for BOTH running and thinking. Isabel had gymnastics from 4 until 5:45 and I made damn sure to bring my running clothes with us. Her gym is near the Farmington Canal trail, so as soon as her bare feet hit the padded floor to begin warm-ups my sneakered feet hit the macadam to begin my six miles. It was sunny and cool and perfect for a relaxed run.

A few Fridays ago I stumbled into the joys of an end-of-the-work-week run and now I am hooked. I have never had a problem just letting my mind drift while running (see my most recent blog entry) so my Friday afternoon runs become a sort of moving meditation for me. Today was no different in that for much of the first mile my mind was noisy with static left over from the day. But as my body warmed up and I settled into a comfortable pace my mind became quiet…

…mostly.

Floating around through the quiet in a sinuous, twisty sort of way was the song “Saved By Zero” by The Fixx. If you know the song then you may remember that it was a hit back in 1983. I don’t think I have heard it since the eighties, but there it was today, providing the soundtrack to my run. In the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that I liked the song back when it was a hit so its presence in my head was not UNwelcome. It was just a little surprising, that’s all.

Surprising enough that I snapped back to a more focused level of consciousness and tried to think about what may have invited The Fixx into my run. After a half mile it came to me. I remembered seeing an interview on MTV in the fall of 1983 in which the lead singer, Cy Curnin, was asked to explain what the opaque lyrics to “Saved By Zero” mean. (Please, please don’t even ask me how I still know the name of the lead singer of The Fixx—I just DO, okay?)

Mr. Curnin talked about being in a mental space where he could, in effect, cancel gravity in his brain and allow all the things on his mind to become weightless and just float up and out of his stream of thought until there was nothing--zero. He said that he could then pay attention to see which thoughts fell back into focus first and most insistently. It was a way for him to prioritize.

I hadn’t done it on purpose, but as I ran I had done the same thing Cy Curnin did. My mind had been full of competing concerns, each buzzing around, calling for my attention. But then by mile two they had all been thrown up into the air, where they were floating momentarily in zero-gravity while I just ran. And into the empty space (that had been so annoyingly full a mile ago) stepped my memory of Cy Curnin and his paean to meditation.

I decided to look up, (metaphorically), and see what was floating around so compliantly as I ran mostly empty-brained. I could see my students up there—each begging me to think about how their week had been and what I could be doing to challenge them more. I also saw my daughter and my worry that I had been on auto-pilot with her this week instead of really being with her. And there was my wife and my excitement for her as she explores where to take her many skills and gifts. I also caught a glimpse of myself and my growing anticipation for whatever will come next for me in life.

There was the Dow Jones Industrial Average off by 18% this week and all of the repercussions that has on our retirement “savings.” There was also Barack Obama with his growing lead in the polls and my growing fear that he will be killed before he can become President. I also thought I saw our roof and its leaks and its shockingly high replacement cost. Oh, and even though it was hiding behind all the other floaters, I am pretty sure advancing middle age was up there too.

Being able to examine them all dispassionately from a distance was a real gift. And it got me through three miles of quickish running with nary a thought of pain or shortness of breath. As I neared the beginning of the last mile I decided to let the thoughts fall as they would and just notice what came down fastest and first to claim my full, refocused, relaxed attention.

And there it fell, unnoticed amid all the weighty issues and the clamor and hubbub of events: What should I make for dinner?