rust.

It's funny how you know you are about to make a mistake. You can feel it coming. The rust covering it makes your heartbeat irregular. It makes your own blood feel rusty in your veins, in your heart, in your brain. And then you make the mistake. And the rust coats your eyes and your mouth. It gets hard to speak, to breathe. It cruds up your ears and gets under your fingernails. It takes awhile to shake yourself free of it. Because it's everywhere. It doesn't matter if it is small and insignificant--if you saw it about to happen, why did it? This thought is the rust. It is hard to shake.

On a lighter note, I finally made it over to my favorite park today. I think I must have stumbled upon it for the first time in winter last year because seeing it clade in fall colors was nothing like I have ever seen ever. Stunning. At first, I was very disappointed because a homeless man was camped out at the beginning of the site. So I didn't stop to sit on my little dock because I was afraid of being in a quiet secluded noplace with a homeless man for company. But I continued on and ran into an adorable old couple and a family with little tikes trouncing around and another middle-aged man walking his scraggly mut. And I felt safe again. And it was my park again. So I crawled down by the river and sat on a tree root jutting from the bank. And it was quiet. And chilly, but brilliantly sunny. And I looked at my beautiful city and felt happy and peaceful. The rest of my run was foggied with the rust, but sitting by the river I couldn't even think about anything. Only about beauty and nothing.

I google imaged to snag this photo, but it's interestingly taken probably from nearly my perch on the riverbank. Though my trees were a lovely orange, yellow, and red rather than green.