Lucien Darjeun Meadows where we are, much more than we are when we are. There is no when without a where. There is no we without a here. NER staff reader Simone Kraus talks to Lucien Darjeun Meadows—author of the essay “Circling Eloh: A Meditation“—about his love of running, the meaning of the Cherokee word “eloh,” his identity as a writer-translator, and the linguistic kaleidoscope in his life. Lucien’s essay appeared in NER 41.4. Simone Kraus: You are a long-distance trail runner. How does running inform your thinking, how does it affect your writing? Lucien Darjeun Meadows: Strangely, it wasn’t until after running the Never Summer 100K in 2019 that I began to write—in poetry and prose—about running. That said, the rhythms of running feel essential to my thinking and writing, with different sequences mirroring the sprint up a hill, or a long rolling stretch, the pause between breaths or strides that feels like an endless suspension, or the breathless careening toward the finish. I spend a lot of time on my feet as a long-distance runner, and with the reservoir and associated trails minutes from home, I often run the same segments numerous times per week. Sounds like a metaphor for thinking! I appreciate runners like Haruki Murakami who describe how they “don’t think” during running—and I’d agree. Rarely do I follow a languagable train of thought on the trail or road. But it is while running that many of my insights happen—sudden “aha!” moments while picking a line through rocks, or while watching a cloud system slowly changing—and it was on a run that I came to the concept of my essay, with other runs showing me how to move through a number of the essay’s moments.