Run

Today I went for a run through town.

On the sidewalks I noticed the buildings that surrounded me.

As I passed by I looked inside, I looked and saw myself looking back.

I could see myself in the glass that reflected back at me.

I saw myself in the pawn shop on Lake Street.

I saw myself in the window of the bookstore on Union.

I saw myself in the restaurants and supermarkets.

I saw myself in the clothing boutiques and movie theatres.

I even saw myself in the cars parked on the side of the street.

I looked and saw the outfit I had picked to run in,

I saw my running shoes gliding through the air,

I saw my arms pumping at either side of me,

I saw the perspiration on my forehead,

To my dissatisfaction I saw the slight bulge of my mid-section under my t-shirt.

Then I ran by a church and I looked inside.

There was no glass, no clear windows that reflected my image back to me.

All I could see was stone and iron, brick and wood.

For a moment I looked away, straight ahead to the sidewalk in front of me.

I looked again and saw a cross.

I saw a man on the cross.

I looked at him and he looked back at me.

I continued to run, without stopping,

without looking back at the man who was always looking back at me.

Chasing the Sunset

So it's been a while since my last blog was written, two months at least. I had actually started a few entries, but none of them really went anywhere. I thought my lack of inspiration was due to the fact that I just had nothing on my mind that was worth sharing. While living at home I was just existing until my cross country trip. What could I possibly have to write about that might be interesting? But now that the whole experience is behind me, I should have pages of stories and anecdotes of my experiences and thoughts on the road, yet I still didn't write. There was nothing I really wanted to talk about. I drove, it's simple as that. I suppose I could attempt to describe the color of the sky in New Mexico at sunset, or the beauty of the rocky crags and buttes in Arizona, but that would be an exercise in futility. I might mention the time I almost ran out of gas in Texas and feared that I'd be stranded in the middle of nowhere until a tow truck with fuel arrived, or the struggle to stay awake until I reached the next civilized town and a bed. I could talk about that woman standing on the highway divider in Oklahoma City, begging for food as everyone drove on; or the friendly man and his wife from that gas station in Barstow who chatted with me for almost 20 minutes just because they saw I had NY plates. I could go on about that outdoor concert in Alabama where I shared a dance with a lovely friend of mine under a clear night sky. In fact I'm sure I could go on and on and on, but I think I figured out why I hadn't said anything about any of it. These thoughts and memories are mine, and I think I wanted to keep them that way, 'til now at least. Looking back now, though it was long and tedious, I realize I actually miss the journey, the solitude, the quiet awe felt in beholding unquestionable beauty. But now my destination has been reached, the journey finished, and I miss the memories of the days spent chasing the sunset.