When running is flying

This morning’s run on the Durham Trail, at Lake Grapevine, was exceptionally pretty. Blue skies and cool air. (Yes, I know, the heat and the ozone comes later.) Snow-on-the-prairie, purple gayfeather and thistles in bloom. Ruby red tunas on the prickly pear. Some underbrush had grown so high I felt like a hobbit. Susan thought she saw a deer in a thicket down in a draw — probably, since we had nearly run into a deer in that draw before.

I spend a lot of time on a trail run just making sure I put one foot smoothly in front of the other. If I don’t, my right foot hits the left inside ankle enough that it’s bloodied at the end. Same motivation in watching for roots or rocks — or snakes.

But there are times I stop looking at my feet to take in the big views and admire the quiet beauty. Sometimes I wonder if other people see Texas as they should.

Where I’ve lived before, the beauty can be in-your-face — the mountain vistas in Colorado, the rich fall colors in Wisconsin, and the emerald hills and sunny poppies of northern California.

We don’t have that here. But we have this (pictures taken by RunnerSusan):



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