There are some days when it’s not enough to just go for a run.  There are some days I have to leap, to bound.  This afternoon, starting out on the path was good.  But when an obliging wall offered itself, there was nothing to do but jump up and skip along that.  And then a park bench.  And then there were branches to bounce over on the trails behind Reynolda House.  And there was mud to dance around (I always end up pretending I’m Legolas when there’s mud or snow).  And rank upon rank of daffodils filling the woods.  One of those ocurrences you look at and know it didn’t happen naturally, but dear God it’s beautiful.  And you turn your face to the sun along with the flowers, and fling your arms wide, and keep on running, and you have a brief thought that maybe if you weren’t breathing hard, this is what heaven would feel like.  You know, C.S. Lewis’ heaven from The Last Battle.  The description that very much made me want to die when I first read it at the tender age of 9.  But then I wonder if maybe we’ll be breathing hard in heaven, too.  Maybe there will still be exertion and struggle.  Just not the kind tinged with despair.  The kind only filled with hope and with joy, and the beautiful pounding of your heart when it says “Yes, I am strong, and alive.”  Maybe that will still be there.  I hope so.  Days like this, days like this: they are why I run.