One of the best bits about running outside in autumn is the distinct crackle of crunching acorns underfoot. There’s a moment of resistance, then a pop, and powder is all that’s left on the sidewalk. I feel like I am subduing little worlds with every step.
Most the boulevards in my little subdivision are lined with maple or ash trees. The maple trees don colorful dresses in autumn, but they’re otherwise indistinct deciduous trees.
Oak trees, however, stand apart.
This massive oak tree on my running route towers over the lame little ash trees nearby. Its gnarled bark seems to speak of wisdom and strength: “I will be here long after you are gone.”
In the autumn, the seeds of the oak — little acorns — litter the walkway, hoping to find a fertile spot to establish their own roots.
And here I come, crushing them just for the fun of it. Crunch, crunch, crunch.
“The best time to plant an oak tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is now.”