Encounters

Dusk-Running

I ran at dusk in the Stanford Foothills in mid-autumn. The cold air pooled in the ravines and canyons, while the ridges still basked in the warmth of the day. In the cool air, the tar weed was fragrant, mixing with the soft, thick smell of drying grass and evening dampness. As I ran down narrow trails, I plunged into that cool, thick air, then climbed into dry warmth, only to drop into the coolness again. Grass rasped against my legs as I ran; the odd thistle startling me with its hollow, rattling flower husks. Best of all were the occasional great horned owls hooting low in the trees of the canyons and the ever- present rustle of voles scurrying invisibly toward safety away from my footfalls.

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Last modified, Jan. 22, 2001