The Wading Game (Woodcock)

Lyrics

[Intro]
In the pine-scented dawn of Djurgården, 1937,
Gösta whispers, 'Speed play, my dear.'

[Verse 1]
We lace up those worn leather shoes,
The ones with soles thin as birch bark,
And step onto the trail where needles crunch
Like secrets underfoot.
The air bites at 6 degrees Celsius,
Fog from our breath mingling with pine sap.
He says, run as the land tells you,
Sprint past the mossy boulder on the left,
Then jog the muddy dip where roots twist like veins.

[Chorus]
Fartlek, oh fartlek,
This wading game through the woods,
Bursts of heat in the chill,
Sweat on cotton, clinging close.
Play with the pace, let it lick the edges of effort,
In Stockholm's autumn grip, September 1940.

[Verse 2]
Imagine wolves at your heels, Gösta laughs,
His voice warm as black coffee after,
With rye bread and lingonberry jam waiting.
We push through the fast interval,
Calves burning on the uneven path,
Then slow to a walk, hearing the owl's hoot.
No watch chains us, just the feel of the ground,
Wet earth smelling sharp after rain.

[Bridge]
Those unnamed runners, the women in the shadows,
Farmers joining the fray on communal paths,
Their steps lost to the logs, but not the forest.
Speed play frees us, adapts to the curve of the hill,
The primal chase in our blood.

[Chorus]
Fartlek, oh fartlek,
This wading game through the woods,
Bursts of heat in the chill,
Sweat on cotton, clinging close.
Play with the pace, let it lick the edges of effort,
In Stockholm's autumn grip, September 1940.

[Outro]
Back to the edge, breath steady now,
Gösta nods, 'As we race, so we train.'
The Eurasian jay calls once more,
And we dissolve into the twilight blue.