A mild aroma of roasted nuts swirls on the air currents. However, as I sip my coffee this morning I am just not sure what to share. I am sure there has been lots, but somehow it just doesn’t want to follow down my arms, and through my fingertips onto the keyboard. Instead I have a Carrie Bradshaw, Sex in the City, columnist image stuck in my head. The image is not so much Sarah Jessica Parker herself staring mindlessly at her computer while mesmerized by the thin black line blinking erect on and off the screen. The image stuck in my head is the screen itself when Carrie Bradshaw types that one questionable, or hesitant sentence, and leaves it hanging with an ellipsis, or question mark:
When it comes to coffee and writing, what’s the best flavour?
And then it hits me, I ran 4 times this week.
That repetitive solid thump, thump of pavement reverberating up my legs and torso. The reoccurring action chasing all thoughts from my mind. Not an active running meditation where I am aware of every footfall, just a love of running that frees me.
Twice this week I ran in the rain. I love running in the rain. I know, I can see you looking at me. Yes, I didn’t just say I love running, I said I love running in the rain. Your head is cocked to the side, your brow is scrunched up in a questioning manner, and I can see the glimmer in your eyes questioning my sanity. Please let me explain.
The rain is a soft gentle patter coupled with a barely perceptible breeze that almost tickles my skin. Instead of my clothing being sweat soaked and plastered to my skin locking in the heat, my clothing, although damp, feels cool and refreshing. The small beads of liquid running down my forehead toward my eyes are cleansing, not blinding. With a mind that is free and clear, I can close my eyes and the rain washes everything away. It is the greatest feeling to lift my face toward the sky, eyes closed, and just let the tiny cool drops dance on my skin as my feet dance over the ground (careful not to trip though). The feel of the rain on my skin, and the ground beneath my feet makes me smile; for me it is cathartic. The first time I ran in the rain I cried, something I had been incapable of doing for a long time, and the rain provided me both shelter and mask. Anyway, when the run is done, I feel pure and clear.
I have run in the cold pelting rain too, the kind of rain where each drop that pelts your skins stings. This is the kind of rain that inspires speed, each drop a tiny whip spurring you forward. A rain and a run where anger is unburied and ridden to exhaustion, but we’ll leave that for another discussion…
So, if we were having coffee today I would invite you up onto my front porch. Yes, I know it is small, but it is cozy. This little spot is built for enjoying coffee, and this morning we will be sipping mellow coffee that boasts lightly toasted nuts and cocoa. The bouquet from the coffee is mild and delicious, something I savour after a morning run. Anyway, we could stretch our feet out, maybe perch them up on the rail and just relax.
My front porch is tucked back from the road, and up 6 steps. There is just enough space on the left side of the door for the round table to nestle in the corner with a chair squared off for each of us. I added the bright pink petunias to offset the beige house and the black table and chairs, just a splash of colour. This splash of colour is very different from the 2 flower pots at the base of the stairs which are full of orange, yellow, greens, white and purple.
Now that you are situated, I’ll ask you, when it comes to coffee and writing, what’s the best flavour?
By Shari Marshall – 2016