My Quiet Place

How different things can be in only a week.

The trail covered with leaves only seven short days ago, now covered with freshly fallen snow; snow that sparkled from the sun on a bitterly cold, 14 degree day.

The browns of the trees, gently covered in white against a backdrop of the purest blue sky only seen in storybooks; and I was running straight down the middle of it.

My favorite running trail, completely deserted except for me, the only sounds to be heard were the crunch of my shoes on the glittering snow, and the inhales and exhales of my warm, deep breaths.

There's something so pure and cleansing and new about the change of the seasons; a change I'm trying to embrace instead of challenge.

There is something so freeing in taking the path less traveled; a path with hills and valleys; a path that winds for miles and miles; seeing that only a handful of others had run this path before me gave me incentive to keep going; to see where their footprints ended and only mine were left to be seen.

How could I not see the beauty of the first snow in my favorite running trail? This trail that I've only run in three of the four seasons; always taking the treadmill route in winter instead of this trail, my trail; the trail I know with every dip, bend, and twist; the trail that serves as my therapy, my peace, my solace in a world filled with chaos, and noise, and turbulence.

This is my peace.




Where is your quiet place? What does it look like? What happens there?