Where many inches of snow had melted and flowed into the storm sewers, there were all these green, rubbery follicles sprouting up from the ground. I felt as if I were in a Walt Whitman poem.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
What Is this Green Stuff on the Ground?
Last night, I went out for an easy three miles. The temperature was a blissful 55 degrees, and I took the opportunity to wear shorts. I cruised along at an even 10-minute mile pace, covering my usual three-mile neighborhood route. But I saw the strangest thing.
Where many inches of snow had melted and flowed into the storm sewers, there were all these green, rubbery follicles sprouting up from the ground. I felt as if I were in a Walt Whitman poem.
Where many inches of snow had melted and flowed into the storm sewers, there were all these green, rubbery follicles sprouting up from the ground. I felt as if I were in a Walt Whitman poem.
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16 comments:
Your blog posts are even more boring than mine lately. What's the deal?
Good thing you included the photo otherwise this would have been way too vague for your readers.
I thought this guy made chocolates?
Nice work on adding a little culture to the place. Classes it up, I think.
Ouch Xenia!
I thought the Walt Whitman poem was about a well trained runner?
Or a well train'd runner which might be something else entirely.
Ouch Xenia!
I thought the Walt Whitman poem was about a well trained runner?
Or a well train'd runner which might be something else entirely.
Sorry. Itchy trigger finger.
zzzzzzzzzzz...
Sorry, did you say something?
The green $h*t's making you soft. POETRY?
Dude really. Walt Whitman? I come here for crass jokes and booze humor, not poetry and culture.
Oh Whitman...I rather prefer the chocolate variety. Thanks, Nitmos!
You're talking about the wrong type of grass... Seeing as most of us runners (unfortunately) do our business on pavement, the sight of this green stuff is somewhat less impactful as it might otherwise be.
Unless you really hate snow of course.
Nice running!
That sounds considerably more pleasant than getting trapped in a T.S. Eliot poem. Better Leaves of Grass than Wasteland.
Figures. This blog has always felt like a Song of "Viper's Self":
"I celebrate myself, and I sing of myself / And what I assume you shall assume"
OMG dood!! Well I'm glad I came in here for the comments at least :P KIDDING!! Yeah homie, I was NOT expecting some Walt Whitman up in here. Are you starting to sober out or something?!?
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body, or of any one’s body, male or female.
I love running poetry. You inspired me to write a running poem! If people think you are a bit too classy, and sounding a little pretentious, then just post a drinking limerick.
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