I have been running a lot more these days.
Running from the news.
Running from fear.
Running from sobriety.
Running from emotions.
Running from growth.
Running from faith.
But of course everywhere I run, there I am: a ball of rigid resistance. I did finally cry on the yoga mat the other day for what logically seemed like no good reason. I wasn’t even doing a difficult pose. But I felt better after so I decided not to over analyze it.
Later that day I took Bella out on our usual route which is about five blocks down to Wyakin Park where we do about a mile of trail walking before heading back up the hill home.
Recently, I noticed that I sort of sing/chant in my head to my breath when I walk. Usually just a weird repeat over and over of whatever song I most recently listened to, implanted into my mind and in rhythm with my steps. I thought on this day to replace it with prayer instead of mumble rap which is what I’m hearing a lot lately with my three youngest boys all home, quarantining with me. I inserted Hail Mary’s into my breathing. It’s been forever since I prayed like this: meditative, prayer chanting. I arrived faster than usual at the trail park.
I let Bella off her leash and she jumped into her routine of darting ahead, whipping back and forth across the trail and then falling way behind so she could then run fast to catch up to me, all the while sniffing and snorting and dog smiling.
Bella’s not worried one single bit about anything except maybe the robins, who have recently come out in full force and on this day were friskily taunting her into chase before flying up, untouchable. The robins aren’t worried either. They are unwavering in their praise of the day, singing it loud for all to hear. They do not question that there will be water to flicker-splash their wings into and dip their faces in deep satiating drink. They have no doubt that the worms and bugs will be there for them and their babies to eat.
I stopped in my tracks in stunned recognition and remembrance of this basic fundamental truth: the joy of being cared for so deeply and lovingly that one need not have a worry in the world.
“Oh!” I whispered. “I forgot for a minute.”
Just as I whispered this a huge woodpecker with a stunning head of red feathers flew across our path and landed on a tree about six feet from us. Bella and I both just paused in awe while he stared at us for the longest time. When I reached for my phone to try and capture him in a photo, he flew away. I swear he whispered “You’re welcome my love.”