earth tones.

This was one of those perfect early fall weekends, the kind where the light has a particular presence all to it's own. Golden shards splinter out over the dry leaves, saturating the trail in earth tones: okras, mustard browns, retiring greens. The breeze carries a crispness that dissolves the flirty warmth of late September.

As I ran this weekend, I had pangs for upstate new york. The early mornings pounding the pavement out on the farm roads were a perfect backdrop to meditate on the impermanence of the year. Every morning for four years I paused my run at the top of Skyline hill. Sometimes for a matter of seconds, sometimes for longer, I would stand with mid run glow and assess the Mohawk Valley that lay below. Most mornings the farms rippled down, saturated by haze or fog, before the earth splashed up again into the foothills of the Adirondacks. But there was always that one run, every couple of months, where upon reaching my lookout spot I would turn to find a that the season had changed; the assertiveness of upstate seasons painting the hills red, or white, or yellow green.

It is harder to find these rhythms in the city. Runs are more often then not shared with others trudging down the Schuylkill trail, and the relative modesty of Pennsylvania weather makes the seasons more subtle. But I do not think it is impossible for city dwellers to garner the perspective that comes along with changing seasons. Perhaps it can be noted in the way the light hits the oaks on Delancy street, or the long slow strokes the dwindling rowing shells take as they prepare for the Head of the Charles. Maybe it is found in the pumpkins at the farmers markets, (or the pumpkin ales on tap) or the blissful fascination with which my dog approaches wind blown leaves.

Regardless, another fall running seasons is upon us.