Last Run

A slim window of time opens this evening. No, there is no opening but the one I carve in the face of incoming rain and high temperatures. I race in from running errands, throw on snowpants and YakTrax and head into the darkness, innertube cradled under my arm. The crecent moon drops lower to watch.

The first run shoots me straight towards a tree with ironic accuracy, ironic because I had invited Don to join me and he told me I was crazy, I had a deathwish. When I ran into Ginnie on the way out, she said the same thing, and more so. She made me go back inside for my cell phone, and went so far as to call me later to make sure I wasn't in a crumpled heap at the foot of an oak. I just smiled incredulously and assured them all would be well. (I may tease and object with bravado, but I am deeply grateful for my friends who watch out for me...thank you!)

I roll off before impact, laughing, and climb to a different launching point on the hill. An owl, clearly offended by the disturbance, scuffles out of the treetops and almost silently wings into invisibility. His measured, unhurried flight marks the rhythm of tonight: the hill is not the speedway of late. Each slide is instead elegant and majestic. A slow waltz with winter, with the hushed hill, with the owl now hidden elsewhere.

The storm carried with it an alternate reality that became an intimate and inescapable companion. In this last dance, I bid that partner farewell.

I take up my tube and trundle towards home, where time begins again.