Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Thirty-Nine
Not today.
The pattern is not worth repeating.
“Don’t confuse movement with progress.”
Thirty-eight degrees. I need some gloves.
There’s a point where you’re driving up the 101, and the landscape shifts quietly. The rolling hills turn into steeper terrain and the oaks give way to large redwoods. The sky is clearer, too. Thin. Piercable.
I think of how she told me that I love it here. That I can’t leave.
Protein style. Add ketchup and mustard and grilled onions.
But at least there is this.
I tell him that lately, as we travel to these away games, all I can think of is my upcoming season and long treks. What will be different this year?
A thin coat of moisture on everything. Cold feet and cold hands. Layers and layers. An almost full moon.
