I felt deeply and humbly grateful. Where I had been nostalgic and homesick, I was filled with joy. In that moment, I wanted to be here every day for at least a while. Maybe I could run it early in the morning or on the way home. Maybe I could stop to walk it on my way to work. I realized I needed this place like a steady dose of stabilizing medicine.
The woods welcomed me and the crickets and locusts cheered as I strode past. Every cricket in the woods was singing its own personal love song. Every locust whirred sensuously to every other thing. The trees lifted their arms offering thanks to the sky, and the stars sifted down though the sound and the leaves, aching with love and poignancy for the gone and the going and the freshly arriving. It was staggering.
A train blew its horn and crossed Pine heading north – 3 orange electric diesel locomotives leading the way. I watched for a few seconds, deciding in the end that I didn’t feel like counting the cars. Crossing the street, a faint tickle hit my nose, and I stared up at the street light to see the gentlest fine flakes of snow just starting to settle downward.