Father's Day Run Poem

 The Art of Being totally present to all this joy.

When I run in the woods,
on a park’s gravel path, or on the road around our neighborhood,
Sometimes I am gifted to run alongside my daughter.

She sprints ahead by instinct,
hair wild, laughter backlighting her pace,
knowing with absolute certainty that she can beat me. 

I hope she keeps this self-confidence forever, stretching…

In her is my mother—
Her spirit of spontaneity, Her stubborn desire to win.

In her is her mother—
Beautiful and steadfast, her quirky love and joy in besting me. 

Running alongside my daughter,
(we cannot yet match our strides, she is seven)
the clomp of our shoes together is sheer exuberance,
syncing to some offbeat rhythm, which I do not understand. I do know
it is enough to make a father break down from beauty. 

Streetching... As she pulls the horizon closer with sun drenched eyes and arms reaching,
feeling an acute ache of wonder surge,
I know I will remember this moment.

I will journal about this one, I will rehearse it in my mind.
Some day I will tell her the story of these runs—
she likely won’t remember them.
That's OK- they will still be here,
in her DNA
and muscle (heart) memory. 

It happened. We both shared in this one radiant moment of existence.

Perhaps this is how time teaches us— with the distance between our breaths and bodies, streeetching…

My thoughts ripple days and years into the future. I can see time passing
through her longer strides,
her laughter at my Old Dad Pace—
not in frames like time bounding past in a race,
but in those contemplative elongated strides on recovery day, accompanied with sheer delight that I get to do this, one more time.

But for now, the world unfolds in mystery before her, before us.
A long road- unscripted, unclimbed
(yes— I’ve learned again that climbing can be part of a run,
as can found treasures and pausing for fort builds, berries or squirrels). 

And here I am, steady, just a step behind and at her side, I lean in. How could I be anywhere else?

I learn again
the subtle art of letting go by stretching to try to embrace it all, knowing this moment will not come again.
Not exactly like this. It says: “Here I am. Revel in me. Don’t be bashful, Take it all in! Grab my hand, and streeeetch!”

Perhaps this is the art of being totally present
to all this joy.