The Quiet, Windy Drive (NJ8)


The morning light slithered up into the elevated loft from which I slept.  Below the loft, bare windows created barrier only to keep bugs and other organisms outside.  Through them, however, light flowed in and heat escaped, replacing the warm air in interior of the cabin with damp, chilly air that instigated me to shiver as I unraveled the sheets surrounding me.  I slowly climbed down the latter to get down from the loft, careful not to wake the other sleepers.  I poked through my bag to find my shoes and a pair of shorts before wandering through the door that squealed as I allowed it to shut.

The morning was crisp.  Quiet, too.  Maybe about 40 degrees, it felt still and motionless. Despite being filled with trees, the environment did not speak, but rustled as if it was about to wake.  Tightening up my laces, I noticed the bright red glow now present in my hands.  While the temperature was chilly (as my hands had determined), the lack of wind allowed me to keep the warmth generated from my torso and legs.  Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I walked along the windy drive paralleling the wooded wild on both sides.  Crossing the bridge over a dry creek bed, my stroll turned to a jog.  The muted browns and greys of the woods blurred as the cool wind grazed my face.  My eyes watered but quickly acclimated so I could see again.  I fell into a rhythm faster than usual.  I wonder about the rhythms surrounding me.  Annually, leaves grow and fall, flowers bloom and die, and animals hunt and sleep.  A few minutes pass and I let my mind wander.  Just beyond the curve, I see a street.  As I leave the wooded area and pass onto the developed roads, I continue the rhythm set while nature surrounded me.  I run for a while before turning back, patiently waiting to return to that quiet, windy drive.



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