Why am I so often writing of birds? Perhaps because there are more flitting about in the desert that there are snakes slithering or chipmunks scurrying (though I do owe mammals of some sort a post soon).
A kestrel, on a wire (a kestrel rarely feels complete without one). As I approach, it gave its call. To imagine it was kee-ing at me is anthro-hubris, but, as I was running (and oxygen deprived) I thought of it nonetheless.
Kee-kee-kee-kee. Perhaps it meant run-run-run-run? If it had been my old coach, John, it would have certainly translated to, Relax and go, relax and go (but it would have been much more reserved, and respectable).
Or maybe I misheard, and it was he-he-he-he-he. Or the classic Run, Forrest, run?
No--it was, Nice short shorts, I'm sure. Then, like one of any number of grade schoolers (or even teenagers), it skipped the other way.
The mind, like the foot, extends towards the ground that presents itself, but it cares far less about how it lands.
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10 mi, 70 min; Mono City to Old 395 (I think), to Cemetery Road, to 167
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