Sleet

I step out in the predawn darkness and hear crackle all around me. A steady sleet is blanketing the landscape as I begin my run. Each footstep yields a soft crunch as I glide over the ice and slush. My thoughts wander to the owls as I trace my way the the woods. Birds have high metabolic rates. The owls must surely be hunting their furry little prey in this primitive wood. Yet, I hear only the crackle of ice falling, the crunch of ice underfoot, and my breathing.

The ice adheres to the branches of bushes and trees. It accumulates on the brim of my hat. I clear it off. A car passes, its occupant stares at me, bundled, warm, and plump. I will be wet when this 7-miler is done, but I will still be warm because of my layering. I realize that much of what we take for routine comforts are in reality debilitating indulgences. We don't see them as such because they ennervate over the course of years and lifetimes.

I feel close to the rhythm of nature this morning.