A Slice of Peace

Crisp the air feels on my skin as I pick my way through the trees.  I leap, Gazelle-like, athletic, over sticks, stones, and patches of mud as if the trail were made for me: indeed, it was made for me, seventy-two years ago it was hewn from forested hillsides by those men fortunate enough to have, for once, benefited from government programming.

A man smiles broadly at me when we pass on the trail.  "How are you?" he asks genially.
"Good!" I reply, and for once, it's not an idle phrase.  His concern for my well-being has lit up my face with a smile; I seldom smile while running.
"It's nice to see you!" he says, still smiling as if we had known each other forever.
"You too!" I reply before we part ways, and in reality, it was nice to see him, brightening my way.

The trails are muddy from yesterday's rain, but it is still a joy to run among the fall foliage, undulating, fallen-leaf-covered hills rising up on either side, tall, dark trees standing sentinel, their green-to-yellow-to-orange leaves contrasting starkly with the crystal-clear blue sky just beyond.  The trees throw abstract patterns of light and shadow on the ground just in front of my feet.  I would like to sit here and draw for hours, but daylight wanes and there is work to be done.

When I take the earpieces of the headphones out, the silence and peace of the forest crash over me like tidal waves.  The wind whistles softly through the trees, and if I were to edit out the sounds of the city not far beyond, I could imagine that this forest was anywhere, ageless and unbounded, running forward forever in an endless stream of time.

For the moment, though, time has come running swiftly back to me, halting me in my tracks; I have rolled my ankle, pesky joint, and must walk for a while.  This gives me time to look at the ledges of ancient sedimentary rock next to the trail.  Perched oh-so-precariously, the trees cling on to the rock face, seemingly defying gravity.  This speaks to my position in life at the moment, as well.  Dangling on a precipice, a highly uncertain time, I know not where I'm going, what I might next do.  Nearly everything familiar has fallen from beneath me, so I must make do with what I have and create new foundations on which to rely.  Certainly, the tree doesn't think all of that, but reacts in a natural and logical way to his surroundings without question.

Dampened and worn-out, I enjoy an ice-cold coffe at the cafe overlooking the park in which I just ran.  The sun in my face relaxes and gladdens me as I enjoy the quiet clink of ice against glass.  I drape my shoulders over the railing and peer out over the park, fancying I could see again all of the minute details that I had experienced while on my run, like having the vision of an owl.  Across from me, an old woman in a dapper yellow cardigan sips from a coffee prepared for her by her son, smiling to herself at some remembrance long past.

The clock reads 3:40, and the cafe, I know, will close in twenty minutes.  Carefully, reluctantly, I return to the loud and bustling city-world from whence I had escaped for a few short hours, carrying a small slice of peace in my heart for a rainy, tumultuous day sure to come.