May 31: Trail run

The two startled deer

move through the trees

with so much more grace than I.

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May 5: Before sunset

After work, after my run,

I head to the river--

Paul's there fishing.

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April 14: Cardinalsong

On my two-mile run
through the neighborhood,
five cardinals singing.

April 6: Outside

Second run of spring:

the wind-blown leaves

easily outpace me.

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April 4: First outside run of the year

Gulping cold air,
counting cardinals--
so much better than the treadmill.

July 26: Short run in the morning rain

Still sore, short of breath,

but the soft summer rain

has washed my skin clean.

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July 6: Early morning run before it gets too hot

Eighty-two degrees.
After my run, how cool
the dewy bushes.

June 22: Pine woods in summer

Went for a trail run this morning at Fernalds Neck Preserve--the "neck" being a point of land jutting into Megunticook Lake. Clouds hung close, making for a steamy solo outing among the pines. As I hit the trail, Hermit Thrushes were singing around me, along with several different warblers, two species of vireo, and at one point, a Winter Wren. When I got close to a water overlook, a loon called from the lake. Near a wetland, as I splashed through a muddy patch, yellowthroat and Blue Jays. And as I stretched red-faced by the car, run complete, a Bobolink's cascading song spilled over from a nearby field, and a waxwing's high-pitched call pierced the thick air.

Trying to outrun flies
I run from bird to bird
along the soft trail.

May 30: Run

First run in a few months, could only manage about a mile. But I had to start somehow. Today was spring's first very warm day--in the 80s--and the only bird heard was a cardinal blurting out his staccato song at day's end.

As I jog slowly
down the busy roadside,
I step on deer tracks.

January 12: Scent of the sea

Walking toward the entrance to the gym this morning, I took a deep breath--the damp, unseasonably warm air held that salt scent of the sea. Camden's a harbor town, but sometimes you can forget if the water's not right in front of you. But today's air circulation pattern was carrying that moist ocean air right into the YMCA parking lot, along with the cries of nearby gulls. For a few seconds, an image of waves lapping rockweed-bedecked stones flashed through my head. Then I stepped inside.

Sea air in my lungs,
I'm ionized
for my indoor run.

October 13: Caterpillar

This morning I went for my first run in at least six months. You could hardly call it a run, given that I moved very slowly for a very short distance. But I wore my new running shoes, the expensive ones my physical therapist encouraged me to buy as incentive to start running again, and I didn't overdo it. It's very hard for me to begin at Square One all over again with an activity I used to be really good at; I don't have a lot of patience for what will probably be months of rebuilding my strength and lung capacity. But forcing myself to take it easy gave me the opportunity to focus on what was going on around me: red squirrel scolding in the woods along the river, robins feeding in a crabapple, a squash garden killed by last night's frost, the perfect cloudlessness of the blue sky on this crisp fall day.

Didn't step on
the caterpillar in the road.
Thought it was a turd.

September 15: Road race

This morning was Coastal Mountains Land Trust's 4th annual Run for the Hills 10K road race in Belfast. As I was helping to register runners, a small falcon--probably a merlin--flew overhead. A bird known for its speed seemed particularly auspicious.

The finish line was on the Belfast Footbridge over the harbor. While I was there helping the timers, seagulls perched atop a nearby waterfront building kept flying up in big scattered flocks against the backdrop of blue sky--like a scene from "The Birds" but without the scary, "they're attacking us" part.

Fanfare of feathers
greets runners after six miles.
And, ah, the harbor!

April 17: What I saw on my run

Megunticook River running low, baring lots of rocks; my first yellow-bellied sapsucker of the spring pecking on a pine tree; small pink magnolia bush in full bloom; a lawn full of daffodils; flock of waxwings in an apple tree; several brush piles waiting to be burned; one other runner, moving much more easily than I; a very nicely renovated back porch; fat robins hopping on the green grass; hikers climbing on the exposed rocks on Mount Battie; black cat hanging out on a log above a stream in the woods; crow flying with something large and orange in its bill; a rhododendron just starting to bud; alder wetland full of singing peepers; flock of maybe a dozen free-range chickens scattered all over a front yard; a guy smashing something on his ATV really loudly; truck for sale: 1998 but only 62K miles, runs great; a bank of forsythia bushes in full neon-yellow bloom; and this, on the pocket-sized lawn of our neighbor's trailer, nestled between two bushy pine trees:

Four white plastic chairs,
hibachi in the middle,
two tiki torches.

Some people have the gift of being able to make a party anywhere.

March 22: Suddenly

I swear they weren't there this morning. Of course, I was distracted because I thought I'd heard my first phoebe of spring, so maybe I missed them. They definitely weren't there yesterday. But this afternoon I suddenly noticed that the coltsfoot was blooming under the white pine outside our office--our first wildflower of the season. Perhaps the day's freakish 80-degree weather enticed the multitudes of yellow blossoms up through the pine needles in record time.

Later, I ran sluggishly across town, my asthmatic lungs unaccustomed to the heat. As I neared my destination, however, my pace picked up. I could hear a loud chorus of peepers in Lily Pond, behind the Y. They weren't there a couple of nights ago. We drove home the long way, through Aldermere Farm, with windows down so we could hear them in full force. A hot pink sunset was settling over the pond as we drove past, and a flock of geese grazed in the pasture. If the songs of frogs can make our spirits soar so easily, imagine how the female tree frogs must feel.

Light, warmth, and hormones--
simple recipe to thrill
hearts of frogs, and us.

March 17: Renewal of the Run Counts

Thanks to this glorious sunshine, this morning it felt warm enough for me to go for my first outdoor run of the year. (I know many runners who run outside year-round, but I'm a real wimp when it comes to cold so would rather take advantage of my Y membership and run inside in winter.) In spring I don't like to run plugged in to my iPod; I prefer to hear birdsong. It's a way of learning what birds have returned. I keep a tally in my head of all the species I hear or see on each outing, trying to top my previous run's count. This morning's total, accumulated while running from my house to the Y (a mere two miles), was eleven:

1. goldfinch
2. tufted titmouse
3. cardinal
4. song sparrow
5. white-breasted nuthatch
6. downy woodpecker
7. Canada goose
8. house finch
9. grackle
10. crow
11. herring gull

Nothing unusual here, but this is just the beginning, just a baseline for the weeks ahead when the woods will once more resound with the renewing songs of birds, and my middle-aged body, fueled by the revitalizing vigor of the season, will push itself to run farther and farther.

My legs have more spring

as I run from bird to bird,

all of us revived.

January 1, 2012: Starting off on the right foot

My friend Ron has been running, and I've been slowly getting back into running form thanks to a patient physical therapist, so we decided to run the Set the Pace 5K together in Camden today. Getting up on the first morning of the year and running a road race seemed like a good way to literally set the pace for the year--facing a physical challenge in the company of friends.

The first year I ran this in 2009, it was 0 degrees at best and my legs felt like lead. This year couldn't have started off on a more beautiful note: blue skies, 40s, no wind, bright sun. Perfect running weather. My original goal was just to finish, but as we got underway, that shifted to finishing with Ron in sight, and then to finishing ahead of a young woman running in a pink skirt and knee socks (not that I had anything against her fashion sense, or her--she was just a very visible target). I did all those things, my body still feels intact, and I even won a prize in the post-race raffle. I have a good feeling about 2012...

Just body and breath,
road beneath my feet, blue sky.
I can still do this.

September 16: Things that go bump in the night

My friend Ian, who runs long-distance races, was running in the dark last night on the back roads of Appleton, a very rural town (in which he lives on a very remote dirt road!) when he heard a pack of coyotes howling in the nearby woods. He said it certainly made him run faster. There's nothing like that primal thrill to get the adrenaline pumping.

Meanwhile, around the same time but in St. Louis, my husband was walking back to his hotel from dinner when he saw a bird fluttering against a store window. He said the poor thing was so exhausted from its struggles that he easily caught it, cupping it in his hands, and was able to release it away from buildings. He identified it as a Louisiana waterthrush, duly impressing his dinner companions.

Tonight driving home from dinner with friends in Belfast past the long dark fields alongside Route 52, we oohed and ahed at the big egg-shaped moon right next to bright Jupiter. Here and there in the roadside weeds, various eyes gleamed in the headlights, and we watched a fat raccoon waddle toward a lawn, perhaps on its way to raid someone's garbage.

You never know what's out there. Some nights my neighbors are playing music till the wee hours. Other nights I hear strange animal noises down by the river--raccoons, maybe, or flying squirrels. The dark cloak of night hides many secrets.

Cold night, rural road.
The dark turns everything wild.
Do you hear that barking?

September 13: Caress

When I stepped out for my run this evening, the sky was glowing with a pinkish-peach wash, the color of blushing skin. As I began running up the street, the air felt so soft, so perfectly warm against my skin, that my movements felt almost sensual. The air felt alive. I couldn't help but think to myself, despite knowing what a cliche the image is, that the warm air was caressing my flesh. I felt energized by the experience. Which I needed. It got me through my run, my mood lifted.

Sky's intimate pink,
evening warmth against my skin--
I run faster, flushed.

September 2: Fonts of Nature

While running today along Route 105, headed south, my attention was drawn to a view of Mount Megunticook rising craggy and forested beyond a bend in the smooth as glass Megunticook River. Only a patch of lily pads marred the river's surface. The setting sun was hitting the mountain full force, causing the tree-covered mountainside to glow with all the power of summer. The river reflected the green patterns of trees on both banks. It was a moment of perfect calm and beauty: still water, still mountain. I was so entranced I veered toward the center of the road, only realizing my distraction as a car neared.

On the opposite river bank, a slender poplar or birch curved down toward the water. The trunk and the reflected trunk formed the two arms of a K, with a straight trunk immediately to the left forming the left side. My initial, written by trees and river.

For my eyes only?
Glimpse of calm river, mountain,
signed with a tree K.

August 29: Last Bird in the Woods

After work I went for a trail run on Ragged Mountain, starting at the Snow Bowl. It's been a while since I've done a trail run. My lungs weren't quite up to the first stage, following the trail partway up the mountain before turning south into the woods. But once I could catch my breath, I settled in to enjoy the softness of the damp forest floor beneath my feet, the familiar earthy smells of leaf litter, mud, and moss, the punctuation marks of mushrooms after the weekend's rain, and the rocks and roots forcing me to pay attention to where I placed each foot. The recent storm had left a lot of branches strewn across the trail, as well, including one large, nut-laden beech branch.

It was only 6:00 pm but the woods were already darkening when I set out. The sun has begun to set noticeably sooner these days, with just a few days left in August. I couldn't tell if my few stumbles on my return run (it was an up/out-and-back/down route) were a result of not being able to see the shadowy trail so well or my general tiredness from bouncing off bumps and hillocks. The "come here" whistle of a pewee beckoned me onward. That was the only bird I heard so late in the day. But running that late was well worth it if just to see, as I reached the bottom of the mountain again, Bald Mountain green and glowing in the last sunlight, a lush backdrop for a field full of young soccer players.

Near the end of my run I also startled a woodchuck traversing across the ski slope. It paused to watch me for a moment, then bounded with surprising speed into the woods. Maybe instead of pretending I'm a deer or a wild cat on my trail runs, I should be emulating a woodchuck instead.

Pewee's low, clear call
summons me out of the woods
just before sunset.