Taken by the trails,
Wet leaves covering mounds of horse poop,
Rocks settled in the peet,
Smelly, but sound footing, nonetheless.
Weak winds blew a teasing wind,
Just enough for the climate deniers,
Certainly, they can’t believe a real winter is coming.

Each step was beautiful,
The agony of the hills,
The picturesque run up to the creek,
The Rockwell shuffle through covered bridges.
Alas, there was a heavy sweat on my brow,
A sure sign that it was too hot for this late date,
Take that climaticians.

A morning of running,
Deep in the woods,
Where dew was puddled on the leaves,
And it rained when the wind blew.
Autumn’s persistence was paying off
And as I slogged through the wet leaves,
Thoughts of snow came to mind.

An afternoon of writing lessons,
At the kitchen table,
My pandemic office where six months have passed
Without a lick of snow,
Or a hint of any relief
From the stresses of this virus,
The routine of work, or the beauty of a morning run.

A night of Jason Bourne,
The chases, the ethos, and remembering high school days
Away from school and on the couch reading Ludlum.
Mostly, I’ve wasted this time, gladly staring
At the big screen, no Teams, no contrived groups
My only thoughts on the movie and dreamy ideas
About running trails in the snow.

colorful clown toy

There were a few minutes left in the longest school day of the year. My students were deep into a battle of kickball when the emergency lights around the gym started blinking. The calm and panic-inducing voice commanding everyone to leave the building. We went out into the blinding sun and winter’s wind. Luckily, the sun was winning and it wasn’t too cold. The students walked to the safe zone and we waited to hear what could have caused the unexpected building evacuation. Fortunately, nothing was too wrong. A bag of microwavable popcorn burned. The smoke ended the day.