I ran in circles this morning. Literally.
Under a grey sky and a gentle mist of rain I made my way around the track at Confederation Park over and over and over again.
It was a beautiful kind of morning. There were the low-lying clouds that concealed the peaks of the North Shore mountains. There were rich colors framing me as fall leaves fell from the trees that surround the track. There was the familiar smell of fall in the air - one of my favorite smells in the world. You know the one I mean.
I was the only body with a white face going in circles today. There were many others. Some I passed and others passed me by. Their faces had different shades and tones than mine. Rich dark brown, deep olive, and the color of caramel. I was struck by this with each face I took notice of. Our differences. And how I love to be surrounded by those who are not like me.
As I made my way around the track my ears were attuned to the sounds and voices. Different dialects and tongues. Intimate conversations happening around me that I can catch the tone of, but not the meaning. High pitches, enthusiastic explanation, comforting reassurance, frenetic and deliberate, low and soothing. A chorus of voices from places I am not from. Each with a story to tell.
There were pairs. Partners holding hands - holding on for dear life. There were elderly men in turbans, walking in a pack. Indian women walking alone. A tiny Asian man pushing his walker - his head down with shoulders slumped. Each step an effort. Each purpose and body, so different.
But this morning we were all the same.
Going in circles.