An earlier day, I was diverted from my late-night run by the call of the coyote. The coyote's song pulled me from my usual route into the open field. By the light of the moon, I ran the worn dirt paths into the wild. I was alone, running with the creatures of the night. I couldn't get right in the middle of them, but I could run through the dark in their direction, hearing how close I was getting.
Magic moments. Wild things.
Running, this afternoon, I crossed paths with an old guy. An old guy even older than me. He was shirtless also. I was coming back the bicycle path next to the stream. He had just come down the hill from the south, looking a little tired. We exchanged that glance of recognition. He pointed toward the east and asked: Highway 42? I answered yes. He was off on his adventure. He wasn't even sure where he was. He had a long way still to go.
It's all good.
