Spring and summer memories

Tonight I went for a run down Indiantown Road, turning around near Springton Manor Farm. It's not a long run, about four and a half miles, but it has its challenges.

It gets darker a lot faster in the evening. I'm still in denial that summer has officially gone, and winter will eventually be here.

A few times, I've really wanted my miner's light (which looks totally dorky on me, by the way). Instead, I just stop by the roadside, and let the speed racers go by.

There are still wildflowers by the roadside. The air is warm and humid, sweat dripping down my face, t-shirt clinging to my body.

It feels like summer - or maybe fall in the tropics.

And as I run, I think about all the times I've been down and up this hill over the past six months.

After a difficult winter in which I suffered from back problems that didn't allow for jogging, I was thrilled to get out on the open road when the snow finally ebbed.

Gradually I got to the point where I could walk and jog up the hill, past meadows and houses and schoolbuses.

After a while, running became easier, though I still look like a turtle as I clamber up the road.

During the spring, the route to the Farm became the great escape: a chance to flee stress, leave behind analysis, and observe the changes around me.

The days grew long, the trees sprouted leaves, the deer paced across the road.

There were many times when I would pay attention. Other times, I was too caught up in unfamiliar emotions.

Often I would walk for hours, oblivious to the time.

Sometimes I would cry, the lightly driven road offering a refuge. The month of May is just a blur of tears. Looking back, I am not sure I know that woman.

Thin and nervy, she was not calm, or rational, or even sane, perhaps.

I wrapped myself in solitude, as is so often my wont, like a protective cloak.

And in a summer that also owned its share of tears, the road to the farm has been an avenue for tranquility, and healing, and challenge -- the uphill never seems to be significantly different.

On the way to the Farm, I have found times of gentleness, and respite, alone and in varied company.

Who knows what the fall to come will hold as the air chills and the leaves drift? And the winter...trees weighed down with snow, booted feet tromping over glistening white.

What will the changes on Indiantown Road reveal?

It's exciting, and a little scary, to wonder.