When I got out of bed at 8 AM this morning, I saw that the weather had snapped back to 40 degrees, with a slate-gray sky. Perhaps because of the way rainy days makes everyone’s bed seem so much cozier, there wasn’t a soul out when I hit the roads at 8:20 AM for my 4.5 mile loop through the neighborhood here in Pennsylvania.
The silence was noticeable from when I stepped out onto the deck and pulled the glass sliding door shut behind me. Almost immediately, smaller sounds emerged from the silence. The gentle tamp of my steps across the deck, the satisfying click as the gate swung shut, the crunch of my sneakers up the pebbled path to the road. The beep of my watch as I started the timer, the rush of blood in my ears as hit the top of the second short, steep hill, my tread of my footfalls over our paved streets. A dog bark, the soft song of a bird, the delicate pitter patter of an arriving rain upon fallen leaves. My breathing, hard and steady as I push towards the tall evergreen at the corner of my driveway, which steadfastly waits for me at the end of my run.
Pigtails Flying 
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