Since the injury last week I haven’t been able to run as much, and I’ve been taking it very slow and easy. Which means I’ll walk the dogs, then take myself for a ramble instead of a run. Said rambles often go through a local park, where there’s a particular bit of trail that goes through what could be temperate rain forest if it were left to itself.
Of course, humans being what they are, it can’t be. But still.
In summer, this is a solid wall of green. Now almost all the leaves have dropped and one can hear the freeway much more clearly, as well as see a bit of the houses outside the park. But that’s not really what I focus on.
I look at the ferns coming up, bright and new, spreading bit by bit each winter. Everything else is dying back, but the ferns are all “FUCK YOU, IT IS MY TIME TO SHINE AND GROW NOW, GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY WAY!”
…or something like that. The blackberries are holding on a little longer, too, but they’re expected to be stubborn. It’s the ferns’ seeming delicacy that gets to me–fragile, and yet absolutely unwilling to admit defeat.
May we all remember to be relentless, not fearless, as 202 winds to a close and tries to get its last few shots in.