A change in the light

We are approaching the end of the year, and in most places the running season is winding down (or finished). Many runners take the Holidays off to rest and recover, but for me, it's a completely different story. Late Fall is the time when I invariably recover my love of running. After burning out in the heat of our Midwestern summers, the cooler air easier is to breathe, the woods are more inviting, and the Holidays come with more free time.

But I think the single greatest reason for my annual recovery is the light. With the autumnal equinox, the sunlight changes from an oppressive overlord to gentle companion. The angled light in the winter leaves room for darkness and subtlety, and the beauty of all things becomes more apparent.

This summer, while mild by Oklahoma standards, was the worst mentally for my running. At some point in August, the issue was no longer simply training in the heat. I wasn't able envision myself at the starting line of the Fall races that I had considered earlier in the year. So I stopped preparing, and ran only when I felt like it. In August and September, that was not often.

In October I was running a bit more, and went on a backpacking trip down in the Ouachita Mountains, so I felt conditioned enough to run the Turkey and Taturs 10k on Nov. 2nd. I did better than expected, finishing just under an hour. It was a fun race; I finished third and had to work hard to keep the fourth finisher at bay.

All this to say my mojo is back, and I hope to post here more often with tales adventures in the wild
places.

The Ouachita Mountains in October. Taken with my Canon S100.

Light and dark

This photo was taken last August after a spell of heavy rains. I love the way the tree appears to be consumed by the great big fiery ball. It calls to mind that eerie Pink Floyd song "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun."

Notice how, from the vantage-point of the camera, everything in front of the sun is in darkness. Yet we know that the people, the ducks, and the trees were engulfed in the same in light that hit the camera lens.

This got me thinking about perspective.We have dark moments in our lives; tragedy, loss, disappointment with ourselves or others. The light that gives us strength and hope seems diminished, or even absent. But here's the funny thing: when I've climbed out of those valleys and looked back, I have been able to see that light was present and active even in the darkest of moments.

What explains this lack of perspective in dark times? I don't have a good answer. Maybe its just an inescapable part of being human. But I have found something that can help me weather those storms better: curiosity. Engagement with the world. The more I explore, the more I reach out to others, the easier it to see things from other perspectives. Then, maybe, it will become easier to see the light at work in the midst of dark moments. Perhaps this is what the Jesuits mean by "finding God in all things."

Isaiah 9:1, A Catholic Photo Challenge Catholic Photo Challenge.

The Black Tree

So there's this black tree along a secret trail on Turkey Mountain. It looks dead, but some of the upper branches produce leaves. Its bark is a blackened, perhaps from a fire ages ago. It stands out in contrast to the monotonous brown of winter and green of mid-summer. The tree interrupts your experience; it is not what you expect to see around the bend. Each time I visit the trail, I feel compelled to stop, walk around it, and take in the strangeness of this living being. For me, it is an appropriate symbol for my God. God is what you least expect in life. He is the enigma when things in your little world start making sense.

Seeing God in the Works of Creation, A Catholic Photo Challenge.