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on a trail in the rain. Nothing unusual about that,
except that he was juggling while he jogged. It's
not a sight I would expect to see on the mountain
passes in my home town. Our hikers juggle water
bottles and GPS devices. His earnest activity
struck me as the ultimate Alzheimer's prevention
exercise.
In Surprise, Arizona, I marveled at league of
old men playing softball on a field. I don't think
I've ever seen such a gathering of healthy old
men. Certainly not in my rural town in the Sierra
Nevada Mountains, where oldsters are the norm
but tend not to run in packs.
Urban spaces in natural landscapes draw me out
of my rustic malaise. I vacillate between thanking
God for the breathtaking beauty of my mountain
community I sometimes take for granted and
wishing for a wider array of human features.
lone juggling jogger on an accessible Northwest
trail that beckons me. When I bemoan the lack
of fitness options in my town for those of us who
are not ex-Olympians, it is a grassy field full of
exuberant gray-haired ball players that quickens
my pulse. Then I am refreshed in the depths of my
soul. Perhaps that what the Psalmist had in mind
when he expressed this longing:
Oh, that I had wings
like a dove! I would fly
away and be at rest.
PSALM 55:7 (KJV)
CHRISTIAN WRITERS: www.faithwriters.com
By: Sydney Avey 9/08/2011 – Sydney writes and blogs in
the Sierra Nevada Foothills. Blog: sydneyavey.com blog.
Email: sydneyavey.com
In my normal mindscape, when I contemplate the
rugged hikers on our unforgiving slopes, it is the
Summer 2013 — www.ncsf.com
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