Roots

I just came back from a run in the Bronx.

The morning began with a gorgeous thunderstorm and that smell of rain has hung in the air. About halfway into my run as I ran from Grand Concourse to Mt. Eden little drops began to fall out of the sky as I passed by so many beautiful brown people of many ages.

Titi Ana says the Puerto Ricans are being run out of the Bronx. That makes me sad, but I couldn't help but be proud when I saw the flags...everywhere. In people's cars, in a garden outside of an apartment high-rise, fluttering and battered beneath the train tracks of the metro system, on t-shirts, in shop windows was the 5 stripes and stars of the Puerto Rican flag.

As I ran toward Mt. Eden and back toward Yankee Stadium people encouraged me as I ran. En acentos boricuas they wished me luck, congratulated me on my running, told me I looked good running, and even blessed me.

I've been off the lam from running for a little over a week. Tomorrow around Central Park I will do my longest run...10 miles.

Fat raindrops gently came down on my face and streamed down. I'm sure I was steaming a little bit as I ran. People got on and off the bus. Men worked on the new Yankee stadium construction site. Kids ran in front of their mamis. The ice cream man double parked in the street.

A lot of people double parked in the street.

The streets are narrow and the hydrants have a lot of history. The city smells SO good. A familiar smell of home and cooking. Out of the windows stream music...merengue, bachata, salsa, baladas.

The only thing separating the old men from the young men is the shape of their faces. The hats are all tipped to the side, the pants are sagging, and the kicks are the same...a few wrinkles separate the young bucks from the older men.

Que lindo, el Bronx hoy.