It was dripping rain for most of yesterday, and I debated running until I had finally talked myself out of it for no very good reason. But the rain stopped and the sky seemed to lighten a bit, and I decided to go outside. As I ran, the wind clawed at the clouds until they hung in spectacular ruins. Suddenly a shock appearance by the sun that had been hiding all day, the tops of the trees flaming into a sharp golden glowing. As I ran, the sun hurried through a series of changes as if trying to make up for lost time, igniting the tips of fleeing cloudbanks into pink, then rose, then red. The wind and final day’s light teased a retreating thunderhead into a psychedelic pompadour, and I bore witness to and celebrated this heavenly firestorm, all because I had somewhat reluctantly decided to go for a run.
