"Returning I wish I could tell you what it means to feel the familiar crunch underfoot, to lift the foot, plant, lift and plant again, pivot to propel this vessel through space, through the Winter air, over the slippery roots, the smashed golden, orange and red leaves, on top of soft needles and damp Earth. to swiftly sweep by the friendly ferns and hop over newly fallen angels, touch their mossy flesh with my hand as if to say, "It's ok, now.""
"To push off forefoot on an incline, feel the full stretch of calf muscle, tap dance my way through haphazard scattered roots, to know my proprioceptors are in rhythm and on point. To zig and zag on a switchback Hear the beating of my heart, The breathing of my lungs, The quiet falling rain To see the Firs, the Oaks, Friends I've missed for months Friends who have patiently waited for my return, Who might have wondered, "where's this one been?""
Returning to a familiar trail produces sensory memories: crunching leaves, slippery roots, soft needles, and damp earth. Each step involves lifting, planting, pivoting and propelling the body through winter air. Hands touch mossy fallen trees as if offering reassurance. Calf muscles stretch, proprioceptors align, and footwork shifts into tap-dance rhythms across haphazard roots and inclines. Heartbeat and breathing mark the exertion while rain falls quietly. Familiar trees and long-missed friends occupy the landscape, having waited patiently, their presence framed as a patient reunion. Motion alternates between play and strain, and the whole effort is presented as an act of irrefutable, requited love.
Read at iRunFar
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