LOVE OF PLACE

Running on a trail today along the Gila River and listening to music: Para bailar La Bamba; catclaw are always sharper than I remember; Para bailar La Bamba; sycamore like a white-limbed goddess; Se necessita una poca de gracia; trail running is so wonderful; Una poca de gracia; if I fell here, though, it would be a long limp back to the car; Para mi, para ti, ay arriba, ay arriba; this is one of my favorite songs, which really dates me, but who cares?; Ay, arriba arriba; I’m so grateful I can still do this after giving up running for ten years with a bad back in my forties, but now, amazing, being sixty-one and running again; Por ti sere, por ti sere, por ti sere; is that a twinge in my knee?; Yo no soy marinero; the mighty Gila River!; Yo no soy marinero, soy capitan; don’t start thinking about lunch now, you have four miles to go; Soy capitan, soy capitan; the tips of the cottonweed trees glowing orange; Bamba, bamba; high cirrus clouds like friendly doodles in the sky; Bamba, bamba; I’m so lucky; Bamba, bamba, Para bailar La Bamba!