I love multiple successful runs laid out over days when the moon is rising just as my route leads me back to my house.  My house painted in dark greens, surrounded by plants whose names I routinely fail to remember.  Orion showing his sheath and bow. 
When timed right my runs help me sleep better and keep my legs from running restless trots within my bedsheets.  Tossing and turning.  These instances produce various dreams.  One such dream involved me searching in vain through a grocery store for food.  Turning up dried glass after dried glass onto my parched mouth.  Flies buzzing around me. 
Skinny jeans on large girls.
Hooded sweat shirts; black.  Worn tightly around my shoulders with exposed wrists. 
Not a real winter but just nice days that I only see through my window.  I haven't seen the cormorants this year.  They should still be out there at the lakes, with their winged arms thrown jagged into the sunlight; drying.  The roseate spoon bill I saw that time, a passing stranger claimed good luck.