Running Rural

Over the past week I ran through 39483. That's the zip code for Morgantown, MS, where my parents retired after years in the ministry.

I ran past the volunteer fire station, the one in which my Mamaw was made an honorary member.

I ran past the church.

I ran around the Morgan's old store.

I ran down a dirt road until the owner of the property caught up with me in his pick up truck.

I offered by way of explanation who "my people are."

He was a man of few words and 3 dogs at his beck and call.

I ran past these pine tree soldiers standing straight and tall at attention.

I ran north on 587, a.k.a. Red Bluff Road.

I ran over this bridge and listened to the creek calling my name to come back soon! (I did. Often.)

I ran to Red Bluff.

But I did NOT run down Red Bluff!

My boy ran with me. He WANTED to run down
Red Bluff. And he DID get too close to the edge for my comfort.

We stopped running to take a picture of the cell like structure built by a mud dauber.

And after each run last week, we ran to the creek. We waded in as the icy water took our breath away.
I ran with one son and was grateful for him alongside me.
And sometimes ahead of me.

I ran with one son and I scanned the blue skies for another son.
Who has gone on ahead of me.
One day I'll run on the Upside of the blue skies with all of my children.

And that will take my breath away.