During my morning run, my thoughts kept drifting back to words shared by novelist Haruki Murakami in his memoir about running and writing What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. In the predawn darkness and accompanied only by the thump and whir of morning commuters, Murakami's gentle words were a welcome running partner:
"As I run I tell myself to think of a river. And clouds. But essentially I'm not thinking of a thing. All I do is keep on running in my own cozy, homemade void, my own nostalgic silence. And this is a pretty wonderful thing. No matter what anybody else says."
In a predawn darkness Murakami's gentle words erased the ugly distraction of the headlights and revvings of morning commuters. Beautiful.
The Universe Gave Me a Tent
1 day ago