Rings of rust and stone. Wind buffets the weathervane. We eat chicken wings.

Snowing in April? Nowhere around here, baby. I sure wish it could.

Preparation is key.  Petroleum jelly in the right places, sunblock everywhere.  A bandanna covers my forehead, for the sun as well as the sweat.  My water bottles are filled and stowed away on my belt, and I strap my timer to it as well.  Power gels or gummies are shoved into the front pocket.  Everything ready, I stride out the door into the sun.

The first minute is always the hardest.  Getting the stride back takes effort through no effort, much like thinking without thinking in Zen meditation.  You don’t think too much about moving your feet; after a few minutes, your muscle memory will do the work for you.

I remember to time my breath.  In two steps, out two steps, in two, out two.  It comes naturally; I don’t break rhythm.  If I feel winded or my legs ache, I shorten my stride.

On most days, running liberates me.  But not last Saturday. 

The sun’s power: in Plants’ photosynthesis; and Giving me heat stroke.

When religion and politics travel in the same cart, the riders believe nothing can stand in their way. Their movement becomes headlong – faster and faster and faster. They put aside all thought of obstacles and forget that a precipice does not show itself to the man in a blind rush until it’s too late.

–Frank Herbert, Dune

It was a Tuesday, and I was in British Literature I.  We were discussing an early text, either Beowulf or Canterbury Tales.  Our professor was teaching via teleconference from a campus two hours away.  As she was listening on our class discussion through the television, an off-camera student leaned in and whispered something in her ear.  Her expression changed immediately.

“Thank you,” she said, as one of my classmates finished speaking.  “Uh, we’re going to end a little early today.”

Drinking tall iced tea Summiting Mount Everest Both: epic brain freeze.

I hate quotation.  Tell me what you know.

–Ralph Waldo Emerson, Immortality

Photo by Bjørn Christian Tørrissen

Unlike many in the fan community, I have an uneasy relationship with fan fiction.  I indulged in it a few times during college.  I’ve had half a mind to write a fan screenplay of Dune, or Neon Genesis Evangelion, or Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind.  I even developed an idea for a sequel novel to the Avatar: the Last Airbender, but with the upcoming Legend of Korra covering similar grounds, I haven’t pursued it.

And I will never write any of the above.

Why?

Slowing the day down The good moments and the bad Prolong my headache.

And soon all the people would find Big Ones to live with, who would take care of them and have fun with them and love them, and give them the Wonderful Food. . . . [The Fuzzies] would give their love and make them happy.  Later, when they learned how, they would give their help, too.

--H. Beam Piper, Little Fuzzy

Have you seen the tickled slow loris video that’s been proliferating on cute animal websites for several weeks?  In the video, the loris holds its front paws up as his owner tickles his armpits.

Weed-whackers keep me Distracted; I hum and sneeze The whole day away.

*Will not always be haiku.