Changing Seasons

Earlier in the week, we were east of Boulder and I was shocked by the sight of a cornfield - it was brown! All the lovely tall green corn stalks that I had become so accustomed to over the summer had been harvested leaving a swath of dirt dotted by a few dried and weathered corn stalks. Last night my husband called from the road (he and Devon are on their way to Illinois to set Devon up in his first post-college apartment). They had switched from I80 to the Lincoln Highway at Ogallala to show Devon a bit of my running route. Kendall said, with a wistful note in his voice, that it looks very different. There, too, the formerly emerald fields are now brown and empty.

My son has left the nest and moved on to a new chapter in his life. My father and my first running buddy passed on this year. The corn fields have been harvested. And my run from Colorado to Michigan is history. Usually I revel in autumn's glory. This year, I think it will be a more reflective passing of the seasons.

But, before one begins to think I'm becoming more morose with the passing of the summer: I ran some hills this morning and felt like I was really running once again, breakfast at a running buddy's house was a taste bud-tickling meal with fresh-off-the-vine tomatoes (delish!), I cheered on the Colorado Buffaloes as they won their football game today 42-0 (a performance we haven't seen in Buff land for quite some time), I made arrangements for an evening out at the theater to celebrate Kendall's and my 32nd wedding anniversary, and I've just submitted my first article about the run. Life is rolling merrily along. And you know what? I suspect there will always be more corn. In the meantime, the earth offers many a joyful experience.

Grandpa's Funny Farm, a wee bit north and a tad east of Bigelow, Minnesota