Natural Running

Up a forested hillside, I darted over the soft pine-needled floor. Along the ridge, I followed deer trails through a sandy patch of ground. A fork in the trail at the base of an elder Pinion forced a quick decision. I passed the right branch but spun-jumped back to bound down that trail.

Up and down ravines I slalom raced through the Scrub Oak. I slowed to a walk to tend to brief camps and catch my breath; quickly back to a run. Through arroyos I bounced over rocks and snaked my way up and down its half-pipe walls as I gained elevation. Then up a steep pitch of sandy soil, I plowed my way through a small thicket up onto a section of Gallina Canyon Road.

Along the road I jumped into a steady rhythm as rain began to gently but steadily fall. The cool moisture air aided my breath. A maroon-red pickup filled with Hispanic men passed, a young boy in the bed holding a rifle. Another car approached, a black Jetta driven by a middle aged woman, Caucasian. I jumped off the road behind a large Juniper bush for camoflouge. She didn't see me.

Good to have a brief respite. Back onto the road and into a steady rhythm once again. My breath found its way into a poly-rhythmic song that synced itself to the shuffle of my feet along the sandy, fine-graveled road. My mental state shifted, my sense of time briefly evaporated, as I climbed with relative ease along the road up another hillside.

At the top of the climb, a western view of the mesa, Two Peaks, & Tres Orejas, presented itself through the forest. Thoughts of future journeys came to mind as the thunderous sky opened and a heavy rain began to fall. I stuffed my shirt into my pocket and began to retrace my tracks in another steady rhythm.

My run became a dance to the polyrhythmic song of my breath. I slid the tie holding my hair together onto my wrist and put my cap back on, backwards. I spun a 360 in the flow of my decent. My hands and arms waved through the air like Shiva.

I jumped off the road behind a patch of Juniper as a large white pickup passed without missing a beat. Thick clay mud clung to the tread of my shoes. It flung off as I leapt and clicked the soles together. No beat missed. Breath back in rhythm.

Time faded away once again without any stops. Conversation outside an adobe brought my external awareness back into focus after a steady trane of meditative thought. I was at the edge of our driveway. I raced down the rocky drive then quickly back up the last stone-covered 30 yards and into the house to wash my hands.

My skin was damp, my hair soaked and curled. In dry clothes, I spead out upon the floor and into yoga postures to bring my forest jaunt to a close.

Natural Running.