Woke to the sound of German choral music and then spent an hour cooking a roux.

Drove to the park but had to keep stopping to take pictures of the sky. Pink in every direction, peaks white with snow.

Ran across the trail feeling young and alive, the wind on my face and the sound it made when the trees squeaked like horns.

I ran to warm my body up, I ran to feel strong. Over the jumbled rocks and through the mud, I ran to hear my footfall, the sound of my feet like typewriter keys.

And when the wind died down how quiet it got. A calm as the ferns fluttered and a bird peeped. A calm as I felt at peace.

When I was through all the pink was gone and the sky turned a dull blue-gray.

I took my coat off and felt the cold on my back. Thought I could be a wind instrument too, my body full of holes.

Categories: prose, writing

Tags: pacific northwest, Poetry, prose