Unlike Any Other

My last post was about the rain and so is this one.  After such a long drought, it is wonderful to hear the rain on our roof during these December nights, to spend days gazing out the window at fog and drizzle. 

This morning I was doing my Tai Chi on the deck in light drizzle.  The early morning light cast a dim bluish light on the foggy yard below me, but midway through my morning session - I think I was at "golden rooster stands on one leg" - I became aware of shadows moving down through the yard:  two deer, strolling through the apple trees, turning to look at my slow movements but unperturbed by my presence.  I counted myself fortunate that they did not gallop off in terror, as if they thought I was a part of the natural world, like the hemlock boughs gently moving up and down in the breeze. 

My early-morning Tai Chi is such a part of my daily life that I look forward to going outside first-thing, regardless of weather conditions, curious to see what I can see.  If it is raining harder than this morning, or if the deck is slick with ice, I will stay under the overhang of the porch.  Each morning is completely different; each day is unlike any other.  Often I see a thin wash of bright golden light along the northern horizon where the sun is already beginning to fall on the side of Satulah and Brushy Face above Clear Creek Valley.  The school bus with its bright flashing light rolls past at precisely 7:20 a.m., brakes hissing in the curve below our house.  Sometimes I see snowflakes gently floating down.  I have had memorable mornings on sandy beaches watching the sun rise over the Atlantic.  But I am seldom rewarded as I was this morning by seeing these graceful creatures below me, so close and magical.

As I drove up the Walhalla road, I could see fog lying in the valley below, the trees along the road finally bare of leaves by mid-December, the rhododendron glistening with what had now become light rain.

I wondered if anybody would show up at for our Saturday-morning run and was pleased to see Bob in his car; we started off quickly, sensing that heavier rain was on the way.  The rain was really not very heavy - I have run marathons in much worse conditions, something Bob and I laughed about.  We passed two runners we did not know near the School.  And then Sam came up behind us and we rain together, and he had a story to tell, too!  He remembered running his first marathon while loudspeakers were telling people to take shelter from the thunder, lightning, and terrible downpour at the starting line.  And then the gun went off.

I know that drivers see us out in conditions like this and are certain that we are lunatics.  But if this is what lunacy feels like, count me in.  Each day is unlike like other; each run is completely different.