Thursday, February 7, 2013

after bramhall

a renegade light begins to undo the grip of the dark, rubs the sleep out of air that is becoming wicked, wicked. fierce wind gusts from the west and abuses the swaddled walkers and joggers who brave frigid temperatures as they cut through the remaining gloom.

(but spring can't be too far away because lee in virginia says she saw a huge flock of robins on a lawn; they must have been storing up calories for fly north fast, birdies.)

arms paddling, various sized backsides swaying or bobbing up and down, some of these people wear vests over their layers with neon yellow markings and happy little lights that blink away what's left of the night.

my feet and i, we're bad, very bad—we take the coward's way out. we retreat indoors—sissies!—away from the cold and into a snug little room downstairs. flip a switch, hear it whir, watch the tiny orange lights flicker and light up the console, the machine coming to life.

i climb aboard.

stride after stride, lap after lap, mile after mile, my breath in rhythm with my molecules as they spin and loop in an unrestrained aerobic dance. it feels good, this breathing room, where all of me is living in air.

1 comment:

Leonora said...

Tell me about your machine- what do you use? I'm driven indoors too, but with nothing but my backside to sit on. This is no cowards way out, this is pure genius. The weather can't hold you back now!