Joy

I saw a Walt Whitman quote recently when standing in line for coffee, looking at artsy cards on a spinner rack. It went something like "To me, each hour of each day is an unspeakable miracle." Another card  had a picture of some tight laced, solemn-faced folk sitting in a group labelled National Sarcasm Society. Below that it said: "Like we need your help."

On any given day I could groove on Mr. Whitman or I could join the Society of Sarcasm. I am hopelessly romantic and decidedly hopeless all at once. Just the other day, I took my boards exam. it couldn't have been more demoralizing. On the long drive home (5 + hours), I did a rapid tour through the stages of grief. By the end, I just decided I was happy to get to garden all day the next day, with no studying hanging over my head. And I did garden, to the point of such incredible soreness that when I played Uno with the girls last evening, my baby girl had to pick the cards off the deck for me because it hurt my wrists too much to do so.

When I feel bad, it helps to run. And when I feel the need for heart shattering beauty as well, it helps to run my favorite route of all. So I did today, one of my "run for the joy of it" days on the old training schedule. And today, I grooved on Whitman.

"Do anything, but let it produce joy."-Walt Whitman