Duck Soup Dream

I was running in the time and mind of King Phillips War Metacom urging his people on to no avail I was running in the route of many momentous battles my curiosity in the roadside markers partially buried by weeds and grass and trash.

Only for me to run this ground three hundred and more years later and be lost in the wonder of how that might have been and be spurred on by the lively spirits in them their concerns for the very elemental basic needs of life and as my mind wandered and my pace seemed to quicken and any comparison with today’s world so close yet so far away.

I hit George Hill and worked it I was in my prime again a mind on fire perfectly exploding full of raw power but running with grace and elegance a future Kipchoge the greatest runner the world has known.

I crested the hill and continued to the spot of Mary Rowlandson’s first night in the captivity of the natives I felt their presence in the fire light darkness descending.

It was a run that never ended except for tea and a nap and a dowsing or swim in Lake Waushacum and occasional visits with family kept to a minimum no distractions at this key juncture when I would be tested.