The Dirt is in My Blood. My Sweat is in the Dirt.

There is no way to describe a trail that embodies the most elemental essence of who I am, where I came from and how I exist where I am today. Its dirt is in my blood and my sweat is in its dirt. Family hikes, picking bouquets of wild queen anne’s lace and bluebells and daisies, soccer practice conditioning, marathon training, romantic dates with the could have beens and once were’s, meditation, reflection, soul screaming purges of emotion and transformative healing all converged on this ribbon of stone and soil, rolling alongside the Rocky River.
Although life has carried me down shifting paths in other seasons, my roots have always led me back to this place where my soul first breathed. Out the front door of a redbrick ranch cottage to an asphalt road, leading down a steep hill into Cleveland’s Emerald Necklace is the start of the familiar trek. A moment on the bike path until the bridle trail emerges from the woods, underneath the Brookpark Road bridge is just enough time to get the breath moving and legs loose. From there it’s onto the trail, embraced by the arms of timeless trees and fringed with lush greens and wildflowers. A half a mile on the crunch of sandy dirt and crushed gravel reveals the ethereal rays of sun, pouring onto an earthy river, babbling in the spring and sluggishly creeping through summer. The scent of the trees and plants, entwined with the sounds of gentle waterfalls and flowing water resonate through the walls of my body and penetrate the core of my being. In this moment I can fly, I have no limitations, I can truly be and do anything.
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