A RUN IN THE PARK

The man and woman run every day. Fresh air clears their thoughts and prepares them for the day ahead. They wake early, put on running shoes and grab bottles of water. On the way to the park, they talk about work and friends and children. The sun is shining, and they are happy.

Now she runs alone in the early morning gloom. Through wavering shapes of swirling fog that flickers like ghosts reminding her of previous runs with the others that now lie in the hospital waiting for her decision. A decision that she must make but cannot.

As she runs, shadows conceal the life and death struggle of small animals scampering beneath the hedges along the park path. Wisps of fog coil through the low hanging limbs of the magnolia trees that are covered with masses of glossy leaves and creamy white flowers; living things that reach toward the sky yet hugs the ground as if terrified to part with the sanctuary of the dark moist dirt.

The cold dark sky is mostly concealed by the limbs. But there begins a promise of light in the sky that competes with the amber glow that is cast out by the city streetlights. Insects swirl through the glow cast by the lights. Bats swoosh among the swarms of bugs, eating their fill to return to their homes to continue the cycle of life.

Fog muffles the sound of water dripping from the cold leaves. The drip, drip, drip, changes cadence and now a louder sound invades the park and overpowers the soft sound of nature. It is the thud of footsteps hitting the pathway. The sound grows louder then stops.

The shrill sound of a tree frog pauses as the thud draws nearer. The runner comes into view. The soles of her running shoes slap the asphalt path, then slackens. The runner's raspy breathing slows as she bends over, hands on knees, drawing in deep breaths. She removes ear pods, wipes her face, inhales deeply of the magnolia blossoms, while enjoying the stillness of the secluded pathway. She is alone. Problems are put aside. Only the empty park bench and the peacefulness and solitude of the park path surrounds her.

The tree frog begins to sing again. Other joins in and soon the park comes alive with sound as the ephemeral glow of early morning slowly becomes another day. At the woman's movement the park becomes silent again.

The runner replaces the ear pods, stretches, does a few knee bends, and returns to her run. The cacophony of singing frogs returns as the thuds of running steps fade away.

A squirrel scurries down the base of a tree, eager to find a bit of food or treasure left behind by the runner. It scratches around the ground where the runner stopped. It is unaware of the silent shadow swooping down from the trees. Death on silent wings, a barn owl grabs the squirrel and flies away into the dark forest.

Life and death are the way of nature. Not always the way of humans.

The runner returns. She is unaware of the death of the squirrel. Unaware that death allows life to continue. Unaware that it is an undeniable rule that must be obeyed. She refuses to accept the death of her husband. She is aware of the sounds in the park but only hears the doctor's voice. A decision must be made now in the misty morning fog. The path she seeks is for another and she cannot decide which to choose. She stops again at a park bench to catch her breath before returning to the hospital.

It is full daylight now. The tree frogs are asleep. The owl is no longer hunting but feeding her owlets. Robins and sparrows chirp and flitter in the trees and the sound of children's voices can be heard in the distance.

She returns to the path. Her thoughts fade away as the sound of shoes on the asphalt path soothes the agony in her heart for the moment. The coolness of the park only calms the heat of anger at the accident that put her husband and son in the hospital. Long hours of prayer failed to bring comfort.

The harsh white walls of the hospital rooms and odor of antiseptics, and the smell of pain from the dying, and the hushed voices of doctors and nurses as they rush around trying to save the unsavable does nothing to relieve the anguish she feels in her heart. She watches her husband's eyes. He is not dead, but no longer alive.

She is escorted to a softly lit room with smooth leather chairs placed against a wall beneath a large painting of the Crucifixion. Votive candles flicker on the corner tables. Frankincense and Myrrh infuses the air. There, she is confronted by the team working to save her son. They ask permission to end all chances of saving her husband's life who maybe, someday, might return to the living, or her son's life, who will not live another week without a new heart. His father's heart.

It is morning again. The woman has returned to the park. Ice is on the path now and the tree frogs no longer sing songs of romance.

The owl still hunts, but it hunts with its young, teaching them how to survive. Another squirrel scampers beneath the hedgerow seeking winter food for its kits.

The thud, thud, thud of footfalls once again echoes on the path. The woman runs with another now. Their shoes slapping the ground with purpose. She breathes the cold air and smiles at the teenage boy at her side. He graduates soon to begin a new life.

She no longer mourns the loss of her husband but gives thanks each day for the heart he gave to their son. She now sees the squirrels and the owls living there and the struggles they go through each day. She believes that the constant interaction of life and death is God's Plan.