5:15 a.m.

In bed.

Both knees ache. Hips sore to the bone. I pass my right foot over my left toe, blister forming. I slide it further, abrasions on the tips of my little toes.  Raw.

This would be the 8th consecutive day of running. My body screams No. But that’s not going to happen. She’s responsible. I must see if she’s there.

I check my watch.  43° F, feels like 39°. I bundle up.

5:35 a.m. and I’m out the door. Running. With Mother Goose. (Again.)

My pace is too quick. I’m winded at 0.5 miles, and she’s at 1.7. My God, you’re a child. So anxious to see Her. 

I slow my pace and cross U.S. 1 into The Cove.

I see two of them at the turn, and stop to take a picture. That one above. Pink sky in the morning, sailor’s…

I shake the disappointment off.  Her nest was further up. Maybe that’s not them.

I run, eyes looking ahead for her nesting along the guard rail. Christmas Eve at 8 years old.

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