Sacred Spaces

In the early, misty morning on Forbidden Drive, before the sun pierces the shadowy veil of the day to come, there is a palpable hush over the Wissahickon waters, and the fuzzy moisture of morning mist seems substantial enough to photograph, as indeed it was this morning when I walked at 6:45, along with bikers, runners and clusters of walking regulars. But then we are regulars after a few nods of recognition or quiet hellos.  This is the sacred time of day when the lights are still on along the drive, the path is still dark enough to feel spooky, and we early risers feel the anticipation of the coming day.

Today patches of brilliance spotted the landscape, beckoning with promises of regal fall foliage, and the big green and brown orbs from chestnut trees - at least I think they ar chestnuts - thudded mightily to the ground.  I wonder at the velocity of those hard nuts and whether one could strike me in the head and knock me down, but I put that thought in my basket of "why worries' and hustle along the path.  I don't see Larry and Dwight who are usually running together, Dwight preaching on one or another biblical topic, Larry sporting one of his latest shoe brands that will prevent any more injuries.  I grapple with hip injury and cannot run, but my walking is clipped, my pace fast.  Bill runs past me but stops to give a hug and say hello, a custom we learned from Vince, a former postman who used to run every morning.  He used to tell us all that running was not a job, and he urged us to stop and chat with each other along the way.

Then,one night Vince died in his sleep.  At his funeral all the Wissahickon running friends wore sneakers as a way to celebrate his life, and now there a bench with Vince's name and dates sits at the entrance to Forbidden Drive.

Last week was Bill's 80th birthday, and as I was walking he and about six other runners past me, heading down to Valley Green.  She I got there, others had gathered for a birthday celebration, and Sandy had made a delicious apple cake with apples from her farm, still warm from the oven.  I gently cradled my piece in my hand on the walk back so that I could have it do lunch.  With two masechtomies, Sandy is a runner's model, still racing - and winning - in her age group.  Bill used to run with Beau until Beau got very sick and could no longer run, bu there he was down there, celebrating Bill's birthday along with  his old buddies, chowing down on cake at 8:00 AM.  

This morning the light was patchy, but as I came out of the park onto my street, I noticed my neighbor's front door, bathed in the glow of early morning sun, two small pumpkins lined up for the Halloween carvings.  I wondered why there weren't three pumpkins because three young boys live there.  May I will go buy one more and just stick it there without telling them.

Life is good when you live in sacred spaces.