There's not been much running around in recent weeks. It seems an eternity since I had any real routine, managing only to run with the boys on a Monday evening. Zoe was right, it didn't get much better than that...that spectacle of a classic English autumnal evening. In many respects, it signalled the beginning of the end. Since then, it feels like the seasonal light has rapidly faded, the harvest is over and the leaves have fallen. I've missed it all, instead holding a hand and watching another light...a life, fade.
I thought the running would help, a constant in a sea of ebb and flow. But the appetite is lost, a walk serving as a more constructive alternative. But I've tried to run, again exploring my childhood backyard, stirring memories of trouble, the places we took our bikes, the things we did and drama we created...taking for granted that mum would patch us back together and fix everything. And as I run through the fields looking to the sky where a fierce sun is being overwhelmed by thick suffocating clouds, I realise it is her who is now in trouble...and this cannot be fixed.
