Happy Saturday! I woke up this morning, devoured a banana, dressed in my comfiest long distance running clothes and ran out the door. I ran to Mulholland, as usual. By 8:00am I was home from a 15 mile solo trail run, with a poem written in my head. I snuck in the door to see Alan feeding three happy kids at the breakfast table. I pleaded for an extra 5 minutes to sneak outside with the laptop and record the poem in my head, before it was lost. I'll share it here. Enjoy!
Mulholland is a Woman
She is ragged and edgy
Her skin stubble
Her flesh dry
Years are felt by her cracks
She is old.
And wise.
She can not offer majestic falls.
She has no caverns
Nor canyons.
She is dirty and magical.
She is no Yosemite
No Sequoia.
Travelers are few and far between.
Her beauty is deep.
She is mysterious,
Elusive.
It took me seven years
To see her.
To know her.
Now,
I have memorized her every curve
And crevice
Her ragged edges make
her.
Her unforgiving decents
And rocky mountains
Formed her.
Now I trod upon her
With the greatest respect
She can bless me
Or destroy me.
She leaves me exhausted,
Panting
Yet begging for more.
With the seasons
Bring change
Rain highlights her green
Fires show her vibrant red.
To some
She is just dirt
To me
Mulholland is a woman.
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