A Run

Morning greets me with otherworldly sliver of pink oil paint streak, fairly crackling as the pops of high tension powerlines over the eastern horizon. Late November may be too late for indian summer, yet no frost covers my window this morning. At McNaughton Park a quilt of oak leaves carpets single track, legs taking twenty minutes of climbing, descending into creek bottom before looseness comes. Rounding into the totem pole clearing, he's standing at the trailhead to the beach-- coyote, fur thick for coming cold, in no hurry he trots down the slope where I run only minutes later. No sign he was there. Vanished.

Before Rope Hill, two men with dogs. I pass, but not without some growls. Rope hill doesn't bury me; Foundation Loop helps thing flow, learning again to negotiate these hills. They can grind you down if you disrespect their wiles. Total time: 1:45. It's a start. Stretching every 30 minutes seems to have helped the foot; time will tell more. For today, a run.

Soundtrack: "Good Times"- Charlie Robison