For my workout on Friday, I decided to walk the hill trail where we drove the Samurai to look for morels the day before.  I planned to walk the entire trail we took in about 45 minutes.  Mother was going to watch my girls.  It would be time in peaceful quiet.  Like a Simon and Garfunkel song.

I started out, up Dry Fork, made it to the end of the paved road, and started on the dirt path.  The sun gave perfect light.  I noticed a feeling of freedom coming over me.  Without Ivy Pearl on my back, I felt airy.

I passed an old cabin where many families were raised.  I’d love to have a place like it of our own.  Something to hand down to the girls, or our grandchildren.  An asset.  The land up in there is triumphant.  A masterpiece of the Creator.  I’m hoping a little piece of what is to come.

A small white dog comes out of the trees toward me with a scowl.  I slow down a bit, but let him know I’m not scared.  He runs passed.  I, then, notice a female Doberman with heavy teats.  I wonder what such a dog would be doing back in the woods when I hear her puppies’ various grunts and squeals.  I start up one of the steepest inclines I’ve ever hiked.

My legs sting with the effort, but I push myself onward.  I make it to the top without stopping.  I walk a few feet to catch my breath, then my heart told my legs to run.  It had been years since I’ve ran.  I believe I was twenty-two the last time.  With my crooked spine, I’m not supposed to run, but I had to.  I used to run cross country in high school.  I loved running through the woods, and I loved it now.  There was always something that attracted me to the primitiveness of the sport.  The loneliness.  I like accomplishing something without a team.

I saw ancient moss covered boulders placed on ledges maybe by an earthquake, shifting tectonic plates, or when Kentucky was covered by the ocean.  I saw again the flowers.  More beautiful than anything cultivated.  My breath fell to a rhythm of two breaths in and two breaths out.  I did not grow tired.

I ran the entire way back to mother’s.  When I came off the mountain and hit the pavement of Dry Fork, a heaviness filled my lungs and threatened to slow my legs.  I passed houses and trailers.  People sitting on porch swings, working in gardens, watching their children play.  The real world seeped back into my soul like a change of life sped up.  When I got back to mom’s, I did some stretching, and with a smile entered the house refreshed.

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