I have a soul full of incoherent scribbles.

Scribbled: Archaic Zimbabwean slang for injury or death.

I have a soul full of incoherent scribbles. I run in order to produce some form of road map to overlay the mess and bring direction. At the moment dominating my thinking is the magic people who come into our lives at what I believe are preordained moments. Some run alongside us for years, others blaze through with the brevity and intensity of a comet. What all these people have in common is that they enrich our lives, rounding off the angles and jagged edges life inflicts. The goodbyes hurt but I never forget them, keeping them deep in my heart. At this time of the year the woods are perfect for this introspection. I've alluded before how much they are like a cathedral, dark, silent and slightly chilled, so that is where I chose to run, looping around the whorls and loops of God's fingerprints, looking for signs and runes. Looking for interpretation.