I never went to the war. Sometimes I think I missed something very important. Like the ripples on the pond echoing down the years, there seems to be no missing anything. All it takes is time.
A runner who isn’t running contemplates what the day will hold and feels an urge to run with the ghosts of his past.
A runner on the edge of winter, ponders the other side of love, and finds clarity “just a little futha” down the road.
A runner thinks about a friend who may be dying, and gains insight from the meditative practice of putting one foot in front of another.
Out running in the early morning, Michael’s feet move forward as his mind moves back.
A quiet early morning run. A runner’s meditations. A river. A moment slipping past, almost uncaught.
“When I run,” writes Michael, “I put in a lot of time thinking about how things are going. Sometimes I don’t think about time and distance. When I get home I have taken to writing some of it down.”
Some days. Like today. Up before the alarm, rain sluicing down the west windows, a chilly morning in the Pacific Northwest. Spring. I go into the kitchen and start making my coffee. Everyday I make the same choice; that is, I decide whether or not to use the drip filter, the French press or the […]
A photographer reflects on moment in time captured shortly after sunrise on a lakeshore in northern Minnesota.
Memory plus time equals semi-fiction. The trees fell. The wood was stacked. The dreams are my own.