By Luba Feigenberg

August 28, 2017


It’s after the intersection and just over the very small incline that the river first comes into view. The Boston skyline expands to my right, casting its shadow on the water. The early morning sun still hovers close to the horizon. Its light glints off the water’s ripples. Its rays are refracted by the clouds.   

It is a familiar sight and one that has become routine. I know the precise distance I’ve run to this point, exactly how much farther until the voice in my earbuds announces the one mile mark.   

And yet, each day brings a unique vista. The sun’s angle changes with the seasons and the weeks, moving higher in the sky as spring turns to summer. The water ripples as the breeze blows or the wind blusters or the air is still. The clouds are majestic masses or long whiskers or coats of fog. The sky is painted in shades of gray or vibrant blues or pastels of pink and purple; some days the sun glows a fiery orange. 

I breathe in, feeling the air fill my lungs. Here I am reminded that leaving the warmth of my bed is worth it. Here I feel the possibility of the day with its new energies, new mysteries, new discoveries. The view offers a fresh start with countless opportunities to begin again. I blink, my eyes like the shutters of a camera, snapping the image to my mind. Inhaling deeply, I pick up the pace.

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