#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
“3
You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me. ”
Cloudy Menemsha Morning
Clouds have moved in after days and days of bright sun, heat, humidity. I go out early with the dogs, and for a shorter time. Today is the day of the Chilmark Road Race, a 5k family run down scenic Middle Road to Beetlebung Corner at the Town Hall. I am one of the lucky few who registered early, with my daughter, and got a place; we must get to the community center to pick up our shirts, and be ferried by a bus up Middle Road to the starting line of the 41st annual event. Suddenly, so many people on the street at once! Almost 1,500 in the center of this little town are milling about, gathering, lining up, making so much noise around me. It's quieting. I'm listening to the noise of all the happy, eager runners, all ages, all sizes, all cheerful and relaxed. This is only my 4th time and I plan to to nothing at all spectacular with my event. I want to run a little down this exceptionally beautiful, wildflower lined road in the midst of children with parents who are coaxing them along, teaching them the pleasures and challenges of participating in a little community activity, with a longish wait for a starting horn, and a shortish run to a finishing line, and plenty of water, and just the right amount of adversity to test one's resolve up a hill in the heat, and to appreciate the force of gravity easing the effort of legs moving a body downhill in sight of the finish line.
After, it's a short half mile ride to Lucy Vincent for a refreshing swim in the mild surf; the beach is mostly empty under the clouds and because of the race, and I stretch my arms and legs, happily, so contentedly, in the salt water, so grateful for summer ease and simple pleasure and the quiet, clear awareness of what Whitman calls the "unseen existences" that are so dear to me.
Thistle
All photos and text ©Kelly DuMar unless otherwise attributed