4:30 alarm, five degrees.
balaclava, base layer, body heat.
it isn't so bad.
a fresh dusting of snow on the trail.
tracks of rabbits, foxes, coyotes,
none of dogs and their people.
stray scents from waking houses:
breakfasts cooking, laundry drying,
steamy soap from frosted shower windows.
cars idling in driveways, warming up.
exhaust offends heightened senses.
blinding headlights line up and begin their march.
how can I not feel grateful?
I'd rather wake at this hour to go running
than to go to work.
Moby-Dick Is My Literary Ultramarathon
18 hours ago
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