Today was a day for a good long run, 9.7 miles according to G-Maps, so after much delay this morning, I finally headed out while it was still cool, about 65 degrees. Read on. I include herein a narrow brush with death, and I don't mean neglecting to bring my cell phone on the run.
I remembered to look for the blue heron that usually rises from a pond on the route, surprising me and flapping away, but he wasn't there today. In his place was a family of ducks that hustled in line out away. No dogs chased me on the way out, the lake was calm, and turkeys called to each other from the trees. A half-dozen rabbits were out and about, and only two people were free enough to gaze out over the water, one guy with a bike and a poor overweight woman who looked as though she were a figure of mud that had been dropped from on high. She was fixing her makeup. I enjoyed the jaunt through the trees, Lake Herman State Park featuring several trail sections that are like half-mile long arbors. But as I came out of one, turned, and headed into another, I hear behind me what appeared to be a tree falling. So I went back, and sure enough, a dead branch, about five inches in diameter and maybe 20 feet long, was lying across the path where I had just run. My reminder of life, the tree branch must have been jostled by my heft. But I dragged the tree branch off the path, tidied up the twigs, and carried on, bouyed by my personal reminder, knowing that branch, or the sound of it at least, was meant for me. Later, I had another kind of luck, as during my cool-down walk, I found a rolled-up, undelivered copy of today's Argus Leader lying in the park with nary a soul around. It too must have been dropped there for me. Two kinds of luck? There are many.