Burnt Offerings

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420804823015649481.post-56547665099422847972007-12-02T19:14:00.000-08:002007-12-03T16:42:42.131-08:00Burnt OfferingsMy hands grasp for my knees, my back curls and my head drops. Water moves in two directions. Thick hot salt water pulls through my scalp, clings to my forehead, seeps down to the tip of my nose and drops heavy to the frozen sparkling ground. Vapor drifts like ground fog rising in wisps from the curved earth of my smoldering back, neck and head.<table style="width:194px;"><tr><td align="center" style="height:194px;background:url(http://picasaweb.google.com/f/img/transparent_album_background.gif) no-repeat left"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/wigdawg/NewAlbum12307355PM"><img src="http://lh4.google.com/wigdawg/R1SWRXMTJPE/AAAAAAAAAgQ/9GaexI6WA2A/s160-c/NewAlbum12307355PM.jpg" width="160" height="160" style="margin:1px 0 0 4px;"></a></td></tr><tr><td style="text-align:center;font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/wigdawg/NewAlbum12307355PM" style="color:#4D4D4D;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;"></a></td></tr></table>Sometimes when I run I feel like I offer up my life like the burn zone I raced myself through last week on a trail run off Trail Creek Road near Sun Valley, Idaho. Sometimes I am the fire and sometimes I am the offering. Sometimes I’m just moving. The fire came in late summer sprinting without ceremony up the side of a steep hill. On day of my run the fire is long since exhausted. It is nearly winter. The ground is black and covered with a thin sheen of frost. The trees still stand but are stripped bare. The frozen air is bitter, but fresh. Even though it is cold I can still smell hints of the fire and through my visible hot breath something metallic on my tongue. I am struggling to run hard enough to get warm. I pass through the burn zone. A single stride separating a stand of devastation and a stand of healthy old growth trees. I run further and feel myself finally warm up against the cold. When I turn around for home I’m finally ready to run and the cool air now plays to my advantage allowing me go faster and faster. I wisp into the burn zone and then through it like a ghost. The next day I coerce my niece Lyndsey to come with me for a hike. I’m armed with my brothers camera. It isn’t as cold on this day but the wind is howling. I’m snapping pictures wishing it was colder and that the ground still sparkled with frost against it’s black background. Lyndsey is cursing me hood pulled over head, gazing out from the edges at the desolation. She bends down and looks closer. There in the burn zone with winter threatening she finds small green buds sprouting. Life is already returning, she says. My hands grasp for my knees, my back curls and my head drops. Water moves in two directions. Thick hot salt water pulls through my scalp, clings to my forehead, seeps down to the tip of my nose and drops heavy to the frozen sparkling ground. Vapor drifts like ground fog rising in wisps from the curved earth of my smoldering back, neck and head. Life is already returning.wigdawghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14947035323472398398noreply@blogger.com