journal entry, Jan. 20, 2011
Thursday morning run with Brad. As has been true much of late, we ran through several inches of snow, which makes for a damned intense workout.
At one point, while I was leading, I commented that I may have just come to a new understanding of the word "virgin." The snowfall fresh from yesterday and last night had indeed created a landscape which was entirely new and untouched. The trail lay hidden; but for our knowledge of it we would not have known of its existence. The snow lay lightly and silk-smooth, in obedience and complement to the contours of the land and to the terrain of the Missouri woods.
A truer blessing is hard to come by than running in these conditions with all senses engaged: this serendipitous sighting of nature's momentary yet perpetual virginity; the tactile awareness of cold dry air around one's face; the layer of snow gathered around our ankles and packed into the spaces in our shoes; the smell of a winter world, whatever that is; the sounds of . . . ourselves, grunting as we planted our feet on hidden stones, chatting periodically and breathing heavily as we slipped and legged ourselves up a number of hills; and the taste of cold, Midwestern winter air, biting at first but soon taken for granted and sucked in without noticing the pleasure - the taste of life, really.
What gratitude I'd now like to express for this gracious gift.
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