rush

I was in a rush today - equal parts frenzy, exhaustion, necessity and, um, Thanksgiving.

There was a torn portfolio to exchange, books to schlep to and from the library, a fresh chicken to retrieve from the butcher and an almost 4-mile run to complete. All this to do before nap at 1 p.m. And really I just wanted to take a hot shower, put on something comfy and lounge with a pile of books.

When it came time to run, I was reluctant. I love running but I've been running long enough to know that there are seasons in my running just as there are seasons in life. I am in a slow, reluctant season. At these times, I know that just starting is enough to get me to the finish.

So, I started running. Slowly. Pushing the stroller along the path that borders water and trees.


And that was when I noticed the family of six turtles sunning themselves. Another turtle was swimming steadily, head just peaked above the water's surface. We stopped to watch. We counted 14 turtles.

A half mile down the path my eye discerned something smooth and elegant amidst the sharpness of newly nude autumn trees: a heron stalking its prey.

Again, we stopped. The heron moved slowly, placing its legs with purpose, stealthily tilting its head. Until, finally, it snatched a fish from the water. We watched the fish protest, arch from side to side. And then the heron tossed the small fish down its throat. And we sat watching the fish pulse down the heron's throat. The heron continued its search for lunch out of our view. And we continued our run.

There was more, of course: a mosaic of leaves on the trail, too many squirrels to count, calls of "Happy Thanksgiving" from passersby, the smell of the air, the arch of the bridges over the canal, more.

I wonder... what if I had been eager to run on this day? Too busy getting my miles in to notice the beauty surrounding me. I love how sometimes my body automatically slows amidst the rush.