The Darling Buds of March

It's March, so I should be coming out of my annual hibernation from running around now. Today it was in the 50s, and Steve and I borrowed a car to drive to the Valley Green for a run. What ensued was a very low point in my running career. I took one of the trails and was quickly defeated by the first hill. Then I tripped on a rock and fell. The second hill defeated me too. And the third and fourth. Then came the mud, thick and slimy, sucking at my sneakers. Eventually, I decided that this was going to be less of a four-mile run and more of a four-mile gambol through the woods, a mix of running, trotting, walking, and just plain standing. So it wasn't much of a work-out, but it kept me warm enough that I could take off my long sleeves and feel the cool air on my arms. I started paying close attention, tracking spring again. I heard the sounds of early spring: buzzing, twittering, my licra-coated thighs swishing against each other with each stride (Spring - will you please lighten me of this winter weight?). With each step on the trail, I also heard a faint crackling in the ground under my foot. I really have no idea what it was, but I imagined it was the earth shaking off the winter, stretching and flexing after sleep. I imagined my footfalls prodding the hillside awake. I heard the cry of two wild geese - harsh and exciting - and watched them fly down into the valley. I made a turn and suddenly the only green in the valley appeared - the creek, lying verdantly in the cleft of the hills. From above, it looked like a fat languorous snake, slowly bearing spring into the raggedy woods. Once I made it down to the main trail and up close, it seemed more lively. I stood on a rock that jutted out into the water and watched the geese swim against the current and the sunlight dance on the ripples. I had an urge to jump in, to feel the rush of the water, to smell it right beneath my nose, to bob along the valley floor like the geese. Instead, I kept running along the main trail and soaked up some sun. The broad main trail was flooded with light, and it was not that "certain slant of light on winter afternoons that oppresses like the weight of cathedral tunes." It was morning light, spring light, strong enough to get under my skin and into my blood.

Among all those trees, I geeked out a little and resumed my study of buds with even more intensity. Every so often, I stopped and examined a tree branch, looking for signs of life. I wished I had a camera! A good one that could really show the different personalities of all the buds I saw. Lacking that, I snapped, tugged, or twisted a few branches off their limbs and carried a fistful back to the car. While I was waiting for Steve, I spotted a few sprigs of green pushing up from under a pile of rocks. Crocuses! I snapped a shot of those with my phone. I also visited a very friendly horse in a pasture by the road. He (she?) is getting ready for spring too; his/her coat shed like crazy when I pet her, and she was covered in dried mud.

When Steve returned, I showed him my collection of buds, and he identified them immediately as "the darling buds of March." And they really are darling. Once I got home, I couldn't resist taking a few photos.

















So, I'm not very far along with my training for Broad Street, but I did have a lovely morning. Give me a few years; instead of the slender runner you know now, I might be a fat botanist.