dusk in fukushima

My feet beat a familiar rhythm on the wooden stairs, and then I find myself on the tar path. In a few steps, the tar dwindles off into gravel that winds between tall grasses and yellow wildflowers. I set my face away from the city and head toward the mountains.

Above me are strokes of pink and grey; around me is the blue of the river and the green of orchards. The breeze off the water and the slow setting of the sun brings relief from what was stifling heat during the day, and my body welcomes the cool air. Ducks sit in the tall grass at the water's edge, and a heron, startled by my presence, flies gracefully away.

As the last shades of pink and orange disappear behind the mountains, I turn to head home. The path before me is clothed in slowly-increasing darkness, but the lights of the city beckon to me from afar--the city, with all of the people and all of my questions.

For some reason, because I have spent time facing the mountains, I feel energy again to face the city, the people, and myself. And God and I share a moment together, as I run through the beauty He's made to go back to the people He loves.