This morning while running through a local forest preserve, I passed through a portion of path where the tall grass was leaning from either side due to the weight of dew on the seedheads. The grasses formed a passage like the crowds on a popular climb of the Tour de France. I ran through the narrow corridor where the grasses did not quite touch. If each seedhead had a voice, it certainly would have made for a noisy passage. But it was quiet. Yet joyful.
Then I came to a spot where the grasses had converged even deeper. That gave some spider the idea to connect the seedheads by a thin silk thread. In fact all sorts of spiders had worked their web magic overnight. I burst through these finish lines one after the other. It felt like I was winning every stride. And that was true.
When I emerged from the preserve there was a full web draped with dew. This was my finishers medal for a morning run during the solstice. I was half-naked and fully alive. That’s how it should be on the first day of summer.