I ran through a maelstrom this morning— or at least, what felt like one. The wind shook the trees, and in the autumn-dark morning, the shadows from the streetlights danced and morphed. One strong gust tossed the top of a giant maple back upon itself and a stream of helicopter seeds fluttered high through the air, spinning and whirling in a cloud of natural confetti.
I ran over piles of orange and red leaves that followed the wind like a tide that collected around the hubs of car tires and curbs. On top of the bridge, the breeze lifted around me, flapping my shirt and pressing back on me like a hand.
This is the time of year we think of things changing. Of slumber and rest. A hibernation for our soul.
And yet it’s still 5:30 in the morning, and I’m still running.
And the wind is still blowing.
© 2022 Katie Baker