Vacation in Washington Park, Denver
12/ 11/ 09: School’s over. It’s the first day of winter vacation. I’ve turned in the grades for my classes and I’m ready to, to what? Every time I come to the end of something, I feel aimless and lost. What now? And so, this morning in characteristic fashion, I sunk into a funk – adrift, no plan. Then I put on my running shoes and went to Wash Park. Across the lakes the mountains rose above the bare trees to greet the sun, and the plan hatched. I will spend this vacation writing about my mornings in the park. I will breathe and watch. That’s my plan, my to-do, my project. I will vacation in Wash Park and pay close enough attention to write about it.
This morning was unlike many other mornings in Wash Park. I dilly dallied at home, even getting close to a showering without going out. But I realized, as the shower-water warmed, that I had to get out, to see the mountains, to run.
By the time I got to the park, it was a little after 8. The hard core and the workers had been and gone. And it was still too early and cold for the stay-at-homes, so I had the park nearly to myself. Even my dog was at home, waiting for the afternoon thaw.
Being nearly alone changes the experience. It allows the mind to do whatever it will without being brought back to the challenges of trail etiquette. And so this morning rather than thinking about getting my dog, Kisha, on the right side of the trail for oncoming tracffic’s sake, my mind focused on the cold against my face in contrast to the heat of my hands inside my gloves. One body, so cold and so hot. I listened to the geese screech rather than thinking about how good Kisha has become at watching for her cookie rather than chasing them. But as always, I looked for the mountains, the strongest pull to the park for me. The light of the morning sun makes them dazzle magically. I go to the park for that magic, what it does for my soul.