CityView Magazine - Fayetteville, NC
Issue link: http://www.epageflip.net/i/31068
hundred and fifty years ago. My ancestors knew that sound too well; it was the very beat they attempted to escape. At the wooden plank bridge the sound of my steps changes to become more hollow, a satisfying louder and deeper tone, more like a bass drum. But it’s a sound quickly replaced by the cacophony of the waterfall below. That white noise forces me back into contemplative thought. The sun that felt so welcoming and warm on my back when I began has left a cooling trickle of sweat. Now, instead of the pleasant breeze, my nostrils are aware of the dryness of the heat. The spring air is filled with the pungent smell of last fall’s leaves, still rotting into the ground, perforated by the sticky perfume of an unseen honeysuckle vine. It is a welcomed distraction, a sensory relief, from the pounding of my feet. Ahead a toddler in a stroller bucks and whines to be set free so that he too can just run with abandon, albeit more joyfully than me. Even further ahead a tired young boy is hoisted onto his father’s shoulders. Two hundred and fifty years ago parents also carried their children when little legs grew weary, and also wrestled with children not content to stay contained. The landscape here has changed, but the people are the same, I think. Bicycles zip by me, quietly. I don’t even know they’re there until they’ve passed. Likewise, I pass walkers and am passed by faster runners. I catch snippets of conversations and hear tantalizing comments, knowing that I’ll never know their context. Butterflies and bluebirds flit across the path and I use their presence as an excuse to pause and catch my breath by a pond. I get a better look at a baby turtle sunning himself on a log and just as I think I’ve seen enough, the tall grass moves sharply and a long black snake pushes his way along the edge of the bank, making his own journey. Just as I am doing. And then it’s back to my mission, one set to a soundtrack I think of as the runner’s melody, a contemplative silence punctuated only by steady breathing and the tat-tat-tat of my feet.CV TOWNSEND R E A L E S TAT E Thousands of Homes One Address www.TownsendRealEstate.com 910.323.1110 CityViewNC.com | 55