Windmills

The water stretches out in front of me like an inky indigo blanket, lapping gently at the whim of a cool, light breeze.  Tonight the air is clean and I feel its freshness as it licks up and around my body.  My legs feel fresh and lively as I make my way around the bay.  These are the times when running is its most pleasurable.  When the world is beautiful and the body so sprightly.

Some days I don't notice the beauty so much; I am so caught in my thoughts that do not see it.  On other occasions, like tonight, I feel like Robert Jordan lying with the pine needles beneath him, acutely aware of what surrounds me and its value.

A crescent moon sits low over the water, brightening everything.  So low it is that this body seems just another part of the bay, entirely connected to the water, the shoreline and the houses that rise up, surrounding the shore.

Could it be more beautiful here?  I have only five weeks left in this country and in that time I will take this run twenty times.  Is that anywhere near enough?

If only I could show this night to her.

Some pine trees line the south-west shoreline of the bay.  Robert Jordan's pines yes.  Thin and tall they stand, taking in the evening, delighting in the gentle wind.  My legs are carrying me quickly today though and I reach the road that slips away from the water.  Up the hill, and behind the houses.  I feel the extra effort needed, but I wear it and don't slow.  Today it's natural to run fast.  

As I make my way around the back streets of Chiswick my mind strays.  I'm no longer by the serene water and though the streets are quiet my mind returns to those background thoughts that seem to turn through it constantly, like a windmill that can't be moved.  Time seems short.  Five weeks is surely not enough.  Work will surely be unfinished, will the loose ends be untied?  Close friends will remain unseen and what of my family.  Surely I need more time, but I don't want it.  Push it away for now though, there is no use worrying.  Things will be done or undone.  Just run and enjoy the night.

I round the shops and make my way downhill back towards the water.  The legs are starting to tire a little but they will carry me home comfortably.  I turn my mind to my breathing, enjoying each time I inhale the cool air through my nose and holding it briefly.

And my reward appears before me again.  My blanket rippling in the breeze.  It will be here when I'm gone.  Just as beautiful, just as calm.  In the back of my mind it will stay as I stride through fields or a small town.  Another windmill, always turning.