[Editor’s Note: This Community Voices piece is a poem by Angie Funtanilla.]
Returning
I wish I could tell you what it means
to feel the familiar crunch underfoot,
to lift the foot, plant,
lift and plant again, pivot
to propel this vessel through space,
through the Winter air, over the slippery roots,
the smashed golden, orange and red leaves,
on top of soft needles and damp Earth.
to swiftly sweep by the friendly ferns and hop over
newly fallen angels,
touch their mossy flesh with my hand as if to say,
“It’s ok, now.”
To push off forefoot on an incline, feel the full stretch of calf muscle, tap dance my way through haphazard scattered roots, to know my proprioceptors are in rhythm and on point.
To zig and zag on a switchback
Hear the beating of my heart,
The breathing of my lungs,
The quiet falling rain
To see the Firs, the Oaks,
Friends I’ve missed for months
Friends who have patiently waited for my return,
Who might have wondered, “where’s this one been?”
To dance and strain and play
And then strain again all in the name of
Love, of irrefutable, magical and requited love
I wish I could tell you what it means.
Angie Funtanilla showing her love for her running spaces. Photo courtesy of Angie Funtanilla.
