Peepers and Mourning Cloaks

On this beautiful spring morning, I ran out into the Cathance, along the roaring river, through the woods, through the mud, twisting and turning in sunlight and shadow. All traces of snow and ice are now gone, leaving things remarkably dry in most areas with just the typical wet spots trying to steal my shoes :-) As I ran along I thought about running, about the running community, about the waves of love that have been geared towards Boston and those that suffered in the marathon tragedy on Monday. I thought about the heartbreak of it all, of how lucky I am to still be out running. Of how lucky we all are that we can run, and of those, now, that cannot. The thoughts slowly slipped away as I continued on, focusing on my footsteps, on the sound of the river, on the rustle of the turkey I scared up taking flight through the trees. Of the phoebes singing their song at the water's edge. One of the things I love about running is that it empties my mind, even if momentarily, allowing me to simply be. There is beauty in that. As I ran back down by the quarry, the peepers were singing joyfully in the marshy areas, welcoming spring and all the new life that is to come. And then over my head, a Mourning Cloak butterfly flitted about, so named because its wings resemble the traditional dark clothing worn during mourning. We are mourning, yes, but as a runner, I will keep running.