The Monday run is usually a handful of boys and me, often times with another token woman as an added bonus. However, in light of her bike accident, my girlfriend is on the disabled list for a few more weeks. Another steamy morning workout and on this particular day, just reliable Barry showed. We talked a lot of PTA today for some reason. He told me all about the weekend's kid-related sporting events, tween angst at co-ed parties (a new development this year for his twelve-year-old boy), and the desire to continue to nurture a relationship with kids that facilitates open lines of communication.
I shared my own observations of the many differences between boys and girls this past week while working the beach with the Junior Lifeguards program, and how disparate the society of teen boys and teen girls truly is in these volatile years. They desperately want to interface and intermingle, but teen boys and girls are so different, they may as well be completely separate species altogether. It is very awkward, painful even, to watch the worlds collide.
We ran our usual route, over the first bridge, North along the coastal highway, and past the Catholic church. I love the rare morning when we actually cut through the church parking lot because the lights from the stained glass windows create a surreal glow that reminds me of Christmas decorations from my childhood when all the world was Noel. We neared the local art museum and cut through the heavily wooded park. Our group always stops for water under the creaky oaks, now quiet in the still summer air. I love that path because it feels haunted, creepy and forlorn, as though we are entering at our own risk. Goosebumps. Fun.
There is a running joke among our running group about the many creatures, both real and imagined, out in the dark morning hours. Our nearsighted doctor friend once saw a "cat" where a palm frond lay in the street, and I have been known to mistake similar debris in the road for snakes. I think Barry has balked at more than one overgrown tropical spider in its web, and Bill once squealed like a school girl when a crusty fiddler crab crossed his path.
Creatures of the Night
We do run ridiculously early, so it's not all that uncommon to catch Mother Nature before she has put her creatures of the night to bed.We have seen gators in the river, experienced coral snakes in the shoulder, heard the many whippoorwills calling their morning songs to each other, witnessed wayward butterflies who have lost track of time, and been confronted with menacing raccoons.
Today, however, was different. It was nothing short of a storybook page. Once my running partner and I hit the dark and winding sidewalk to our water oasis under the oaks, I caught something rustling in the leaves next to my feet. I startled, as usual, and of course Barry remarked about my fear of even harmless bunnies, but this was no rabbit. As my eyes adjusted in the tunnel of dark trees, I knew at once what it was. I think I whimpered with delight and disbelief.
A tiny Eastern Screech Owlet was hopping through the dead leaves, looking for breakfast, I presume. It was so small and vulnerable, fragile in features, yet entirely majestic in presence. The most magical component about this moment when all time stopped, was that this amazing creature did not seem bothered by us in the least. It looked at us with its curious saucer eyes, made an audible noise of sorts, and then continued about its business. It wasn't until we actually approached it, to make sure it was not injured, since its behavior was so out of the ordinary, that the bitty thing flew up to a low lying branch. Now at our eye level, and spectacular in the moonlight breaking through the boughs, that small bird caused us to hardly to breathe.
It sounds ridiculous, that one small creature could create such a stir, but in the silence of those dark morning hours, I think there was an unspoken agreement between us. Somehow, we both knew this unusual experience was a gift. It was symbolic of something much greater than our regularly scheduled run. It was to be acknowledged with reverence and gratitude, if only by observing a moment of silence.
"Where is your camera when you really need it?" Barry whispered.
I could only nod in agreement. I didn't want to break the silence any further. I think that baby bird would have flown to my hand had I had the sense to extend my arm, it was so tame. It was then we heard its mother reprimanding it for allowing danger so close, but still, it sat on that branch, taking us in, interrogating us with its intense marble eyes. It was unreal.
We stood there in awe for a long time, far too long for my clock, ticking to get to work with the Junior Guards. I simply couldn't break away. I was starting to believe I was Aurora from Sleeping Beauty in the glade, in touch with the animals of the forest, or Snow White, singing to her feathered friends. (I grew up on Disney, you know.) Reluctantly, we tiptoed away from the feathered loveliness and made our way to the water fountain.
Signs, Wonders, and Confirmation
I often think these fleeting moments in our lives are signs and confirmations. We are gifted with these experiences to force us to take inventory of just how small we are in the grand scheme happening all around us. I wonder if these wonders help nurture not only a greater love and appreciation for nature, but also of our place in it. They are symbolic confirmations that we are headed the right way. These are the moments in time I want to lock in my head and my heart forever, as never to forget they actually happened.
