Dear Mom there is just not enough time

Dear Mom there is just not enough time

I was running this morning over a path that was pasted with wet leaves and meandering along the bank of a stream. There came a point when a particularly fast song on my Ipod had me kicking up the pace and as I slowed down at the end I suddenly noticed how beautiful it was. This particular location was shielded from any roads or buildings by trees on one side and the other side opened up into this stream. I stopped for a second, my heart beating fast, my breathing labored, and I soaked in the moment. I am hesitant to ever stop when running for fear I am subliminally just taking a break, but this particular stop was truly taking my breath away. I stood there for a couple of minutes, my heart slowed down my breath slowed and the only thing I could hear was the trickle of water over the rocks. The Autumn smell of freshly fallen leaves and wet earth filled my nose and the morning light that filtered through the soon to be falling leaves made the shade particularly comfortable in the warming morning.

For another couple minutes I just stood there admiring the stream, noting some trees I could identify, a sycamore, a pin oak, a black hickory. My eye followed a female robin looking for worms in the mud by the path. A squirrel stopped in a tree watching me. I suppose he watches many runners go by, I wondered how many stopped and stared?

I could have stayed there all morning, or at least till I got hungry. But I had a busy day ahead. A meeting, a phone call or two, some orders to fill, and a funeral to go to. I could stay no longer. I promised myself that one day I would bring a lunch and just hang out in that place all morning. But, next time it might not be the same. Different time, different temperature, more people. So I moved on, picked up the pace, decided there was no way I could make up the time and just settled into a good stride. Another song on the Ipod was starting to play and I kicked up my feet in time.

Did it count as stopping to smell the roses? Even though I could not stop long I still felt like I was enriched at that moment. I am thinking about it even now.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

--Robert Frost

Love Mike