If you could measure a community by the number of people who wave to you as you run by, (and of course you can) then this northern Michigan community is the greatest. Farmers set up unmanned fruit stands where you take what you like and pay by the honor system. VHS stores are still present. In the absence of city lights, the stars in the night sky become glorious. When the sun rises, it reveals country roads with long, steep hills through farmland and air that is pure Michigan. Deer and the occasional bear pop out of the forest.
In between the gaps of country road stretches, humanity is present, and people wave at you while you run by. Yep. Not just other runners or walkers, for they certainly do, but cars driving by, people sitting on their porch, morning coffee drinkers from their living room through the shades. Everyone says hello with a vigorous wave.
A few runs back at home down-state, and I return to the intermittent friendly wave back from other runners I pass on the suburbia sidewalks. But not everyone. Others look at me suspicously or put me on ignore. I am not so rigid that I can't forgive the non-waving runner. I understand the intensity of running can preclude one from acknowledging the outside world with a nod of your head, a smile, or even a grunt.
To them I say a silent Namaste.
But, to the other non-waving runners, I say: deny all you want, but if we are running on the same street you are communing with me wether you like it or not. We are sharing the same air. You are blood of my blood. We are brothers and sisters of the Night's Watch, the Day's Watch, and often, a 7 am start time on a promising Sunday morning, bundled together en masse, waiting to start. You will breath my exhaust, I will breath yours, and the time may come when you'll see we're all one and life flows on within you and without you. (yeah, that's the Beatles)