This morning I took to my usual weekend running spot. It’s a quiet, lakeside neighborhood, and although it’s not mine, one day I hope to make it so. For now I only borrow its trails for a few hours each weekend.
Today I took a new footpath I hadn’t ventured down before, past the well-manicured lawns and expansive homes, where the sidewalks stop and dreams begin. I left behind the familiar cul-de-sacs who’s names end in things like “Bay” and “Shores” and ventured into an unnamed place where a paved trail and an empty street were the only things by way of developments.
I popped out my earbuds just so I could hear the birds overhead. There were new trees here to see. Some may argue trees are trees, but I knew better. These trees seemed taller, more vibrant, bursting with energy. The grass ran wild and unbridled in this open, uncharted space. It didn’t just grow taller here; it smelled different.
Maybe I appreciated it more because I don’t benefit from its daily existence. Or perhaps I was just feeling more blessed today for one reason or another. More in tune with my surroundings. For once it didn’t occur to me to wonder how far I’d run or to complain that my jogging bra was chaffing me yet again. I simply enjoyed the company of my own thoughts on a road less traveled.