Transcendence

My long run out on a cold windy morning. I think of food: bacon and cheese omlette, hot chocolate. I wonder how many people are having it for breakfast at that moment in my neighborhood. People drive by in their metal boxes, warm and soft, on their way to church or on breakfast errands. In two or three hours, some will drive by again, returning. Those who know me will smile and wave, those who don't will stare in mutual incomprehension. I run, far away from iPhones, Wee's, XBoxes, and other trinkets that distract and ennervate, but never satisfy. I am far away from Madison Avenue's seduction to want those trinkets; I am far away from Wall Street's greed that inspires their creation.

The cold north-western wind bluster buffets me. Cardinals in the trees twitter morning calls. The robins rustle in the trees above me as I run past. Crows flock and fly east towards the rising sun. A hawk is already screaching in the sky above, hunting for its breakfast. It is long run day dawn: cold, simple, and savage.

I realize that these long runs are acts of transcendence.