The Weeds

As I descended the hill I came to the T-intersection. I could turn left and run toward town, or I could turn right and head into the country.

Without hesitation my feet instinctively knew which way to take me.

I turned right.

The air was heavy and sweet and clung to my skin, the way only Midwestern air can feel and smell in the thick of summer.

The crunch of the gravel beneath my feet harmonized with the chirp of the crickets and the songs of the birds.

For the first quarter mile my focus was on the point where I would turn around and make the trek back. But, as I continued along I began to take in all that was surrounding me.

Dilapidated fences exposed a beauty I'd never noticed before.

Train tracks I'd crossed hundreds of times left me admiring the lines they sharply cut through the landscape.

I made my way across a river - one I knew existed - but I'd never really seen. The churning muddy waters moving lazily along.

And then I took notice of the weeds. Upon second, and third glances, I found I couldn't justly call them 'weeds.'

 

The colors and blooms were too great and too spectacular to be called weeds. After all, a weed is merely a plant out of place. These plants were anything but out of place. Clearly they were meant to be right where they grew, tall, and proud, and bursting with beauty. A rainbow of magic and grace, sweetly encouraging me to keep my pace, to keep going, to keep pushing on.

As I reached the end of my run (one that had taken longer than expected, as I couldn't help but stop and capture each glorious bloom, plant, and landscape), a run that should have left me tired and spent, left me feeling refreshed and renewed, mind, body, and spirit.

Go fast enough to get there, but slow enough to see.
~Jimmy Buffett