Friday, April 6


Air is crisp and blithe with light snow
I reach the wooden bridge,
Yonder is the tall sandstone gate of Bayside Cemetary
The trail takes a trun.
A roundabout ...

Sleeping souls
My tired calf slogs back
Lighted apartments
Life's vagary
A gas station
Coffee shop
Church spires

A two-mile run on Clarkson Trail
With every step, I feel the earth still wet and soggy from melted snow.
Trees stand tall with songs of spring.


It's spring; it's not …

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