foreboding and exhilaration and apocalypse and life.

  • Sunday, April 29, 2012
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Please do not adjust your set. I rise at 05:15am to run the Downs in heavy and unending rain. Jerry and I run wind lashed and rainswept on trails that are at times more like streams, the water flowing three to four inches deep. On some of the more sunken trails it is shin height. It is cold and even my waterproof Sealskinz socks eventually fail. And then there is the Mud. Mud and wind and horizontal rain stinging my face and blinding me. On occasions I stumble along the flowing chalky paths in thick mist, or as Jerry puts it, the base of the clouds. The vegetation is tall and dripping and grabs at us like desperate voiceless beggars as we pass. I don't spare them a glance, I am totally absorbed in our solitary odyssey through the alien landscape. The mission is everything. Strangely I have a sense and a memory of silence, the heaviness of the weather and the weight of the ground muting all sound. I know foreboding and exhilaration and apocalypse and life. It seems that all of nature is rupturing and breaking apart around us, the ground sliding beneath our feet. I have the knowledge that as I run that I will carry these things in the hot centre of my breast for days to come. We shall not speak of these things Jerry and I, when you've journeyed to another place through the ravaged landscape of your soul you must remain silent least others think you mad. They will never understand.

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