The mornings have lost the summer’s early rays. We ran through the humidity joking that the Suck Level was in full effect. Some in our group were out for the long haul, some going easy to protect against recurring injuries, and I was confused after a night of light sleep. Instead of sticking with the crew, I turned and headed off alone. The normal chatter that rages in my head must have stayed in bed because all I heard was the rhythm of my breathing, the softness of my feet hitting the ground, and the occasional walnut falling in the woods. The air was cool at the bottom of hills, a welcome relief from the humid mushroom soil infused air at the top of the hills.
I cruised letting gravity and friction cooperate to get me around the way. Every run should be so peaceful. Every day should have such a start.
Things get away in a busy week.
Rest ramps up.
Darkness comes earlier.
Writing gets pushed aside.
Somehow there’s still a president,
Baseball is still playing, and
Hockey, which just finished,
Will soon be back on the ice for real,
Or as the kids say, “Frrreal.”
Maybe things will slow down soon.
Perhaps a heating pad is not enough.
Maybe two-thirds majority, either.
Not sure of the connection,
But whether I’m warm enough
Or freed from this political apocalypse
I’m fairly sure things wont change much.
So I’ll keep running
And I’ll keep voting
Because as hard as the miles are
Not having a say is worse.
Soon enough my quads won’t hurt,
Hopefully, America will wake up just as quickly.