I can't sleep…
[…]
But remember that you have to move on,
somehow.
You just pick your head up
and stare at something beautiful
like the sky or the ocean,
and
you move the hell on.
— James Patterson, Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas.
Notes:
Notes:
The first word “Ah”
blossoms into others
All of them true.
~ Kukai, 774–835, Japanese monk, civil servant, scholar, poet.
Notes:
Mile 0: Lori.
Lori slings out the bait: “It’s time for a run! Lace up those PF Flyers and get out there, man! The world (OK *I*) needs another running post!” This challenge comes from a writer, no, a professional Writer. I do wonder, did she send the text from the Stop & Shop counter while flipping through The Enquirer?
She’s a blogger acquaintance. We’ve never met. A lover of Dogs. A writer. A reader. A traveler. An Ivy Leaguer, stealthily unadvertised – someone who you would underestimate – the kindness overpowering. Would I recognize her if she walked by me in Grand Central Station? Is she tall or short? Why does she follow along? Rubbernecking syndrome?
She baits me, I jump.
Could I be that simple?
Am I that shallow? Or is it “Callow?”
I can feel the weight of her eyes, her mind on these words – this sentence separator, whatever you call it – a Big Dash, a Double Wide Dash, A Long Dash. But she’ll know. She’ll whisper, “It’s an x Dave.”
Pavlov’s hand is stretched, reaching. I stand in her shadow.
It’s ‘Callow.’ (Should it be a double quotation mark? A single? Should it be inside or outside the period? The fullness of her weight, too much.)
I walk out the door.
I run. Continue reading “Running. Running Hot.”
