He didn't believe him. "No way. Every time you read it?" "Yea, every time. It is really strong." The sunlight was the middle of the day, a Saturday. Hid Dad's wool plaid sweater looked comfortable. Just years ago, his Dad would still put it around him to warm him. It was always impossibly warm, and smelled of wood smoke. "So anyway, we have to read it for class." He flipped through the pages, the light spilling through the dusty kitchen; a golden ladder with tawny rungs.

"Half a league, half a league
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred."

His dad walked to the sink and placed his hands down on the aluminum walls of it; he stared out into the street. A young kid was wrapping toilet paper around a red bundle of caps. A blue jay landed on the feeder sicking out of the fern garden. Into the valley of death rode the six hundred.

The weather was cooler by the end of my run; probably in the 50s. I stopped briefly with traffic and once to stretch, but the majority of the 4.6 miler was defined by clear thoughts, pumping lungs, and breathing. One of the best runs I have had in a while. The weather was cool. You could almost picture wearing more clothing if it was just 10 degrees cooler; one decimal place. I rounded the south side of the smaller University lakes and started by run back home: up Lakeshore drive, back into the garden district, past Acadian, and into Capital Heights. I didn't really think about much or do too much reflection; it was a pure run. In 5 days I will be with my wife in Central America. I hope for warm sun and perfect sunrises.