Cadence

I remember running on a trail, an old rail bed converted to a hiking, biking, running trail, I was with my best friend, we at the time held an almost identical level of fitness. It was a humid summer night, the air offered no resistance and on the last 2 km of a 10k run, we fell into the most perfect rhythm of stride. The tips of my fingers felt as if they were skimming the still surface of a warm bath. I was running swiftly and gracefully and my mind was totally relaxed.

I sat in a restaurant waiting for my dinner. I was watching a girl polish stemware, one hand would spin the glass, the other would work the white cloth over its surface. The glass would be quickly held aloft, her eyes would flash in the light that revealed the clarity of glass, it would be set down and another taken up. Each time I waited for the flash of her eyes when she gazed upon the glass. The whole ritual, the timing, held me mesmerized.

I've had times when I was alone on my boat in a perfect breeze, my tiller lashed and my sails set in a sweet balance. I'd step to to bow and would hold fast to the fore-stay. I could feel the power of the wind being transferred through the mast and into the hull of my little craft. I'd see my shadow cast on the surface of the water, I was, as a man flying.

You can hear it in song or feel it in the meter of a poem, you can experience it in the motion of life, I think it's called cadence.

I have no photo to add to this post, I can only hope the words were picture enough.