There's something about the final weeks of summer that always sticks in my mind. When I was a teenager, I figured it was just a matter of timing, and how Labor Day corresponded to the last weekend before school started up again. But even from where I stand now, separated from the academic calendar and decades older, I still cling to those days throughout the winter. I look at this image and instantly hear the lyrics of Death Cab For Cutie playing on some faraway radio:
"I used to think about a whole bunch of random things," I said casually, trying to divert the attention away from me and my non-answer. I was at a business dinner, and the conversation had turned to the subject of running. Someone at the table made reference to the mountain ultras I ran while living in Ithaca, while another turned to me and asked "what could possibly be going through your mind during that kind of effort?" What was I supposed to say?
It's the third week in a row the northeastern United States has awoken to a Monday-morning snow storm. For adults, this has meant interrupted work schedules, chaotic planning for last-minute child care, and a higher than average attention to The Weather Channel. But for children, it has been an exciting reprieve from the usual routine. Some wake up and immediately rush to put on snow pants and heavy coats to go play in the snow, while others celebrate by staying inside, playing games and doing crafts. While working at my desk this morning, I turned to see one of my own poised at the window, quiet for a moment, staring in wonder at the white curtain of snow falling outside.
Early one spring morning, I strode down the singletrack that followed the creek to this waterfall. I had already put in a tough trail run that day and I could feel the softness in my legs as they braced against each downhill footfall. The only noise was that from the falling water, and as I glanced over to the source, I spotted this lone fisherman. Him doing his thing, me doing mine.