May 18, 2006

  • Ran 5 miles in Dreamland (kick-ass cemetery) yesterday.  And another 5 miles the day before.


     


    I’ve determined that my post-run traditional and previously inspirational blogging spot (see profile pic) in Dreamland is inspirational no more.  So I need to find another spot.  I’m considering the following:


     


    1) At the base of the largest obelisk in the whole cemetery, Rockefeller’s monument, where legend has it, if you leave a penny, you’ll some day become rich.


     


    2) At a picnic table in an open field that is adjacent to two lovely ponds where ducks and geese abound.  I’d be open to the view of endless passerbys.  They’d be liable to witness a crazed blogger scribbling madly in cyberable glyphs for the endless Ages.


     


    3) Upon an island plateau in a geographically-difficult (only access is up a steep, ungraded jeep trail) and nearly unvisted  (anymore) section of the cemetery.  Old bones there.   And I think there’s a dog’s grave, too, so dog bones to boot!


     


    4) Upon the porch of Garfield’s Monument.  Flip back a few posts and you’ll see me there hanging upside-down on the rail leading upon to his tomb.  Upside: grandly architectural with an abiding sense of historicity.  Downside: Rock instead of earth under my butt. (Get it? Upside-down ...side.  Oh, forget it.)


     


    5) Aside the Dreamland (easy-flowing) Stream in a scenic forested area accessible only by a woodchip path.   This is where I whispered to and petted a two-year-old wild wandering deer (recorded a few posts ago.).  If there are such things as nymphs and sprites and faeries (both light and dark), I believe they might come to convocate there.


     


    6) Under the Evil Tree which sits upon a hill not far from my current (see profile pic) location.  I call it the Evil Tree because its foliage is symmetrically split: one half is lush (representing Life and fecundity), the other half is denuded/vanquished (representing a hangover), AND because, upon one Halloween nite when the moon was full and I was romping about in rare form (high, spirited, and poetic), it (the Evil Tree) beckoned me with a thousand voices to climb it and spend the whole night huddled upon one of its branches. (I politely declined.)


     


    So what say you?  Or should I just do the rounds and visit each in a Hemingway-esque Movable Feast mode and serve up whatever inspirational instilling takes hold as a maryjanepourri?  


     


    Is that a word?


     


    Ah, thank you.  As a potpourri.

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