These Summer Days

We went to the lake again today -- Trudy, Guinness the dog, and I. We waited until the sun was low and the shadows were beginning to stretch across the trail and the temperatures began to drop.

As I ran off in the direction of the pedestrian bridge, the two of them went the other way, to sit on the bench where we sat last week in the late afternoon. It's a good spot to sit, if the bench is free, especially on a day like this when a breeze comes across the water.

I imagine they sat there listening to the footsteps of the runners going by on the trail behind them, and the lapping of the water at the Cypress roots by the shore. I imagine the air felt good as it blew in their hair. And I can see the shimmering green of the afternoon sun lighting up the leaves overhead as it descended into the hills.

Seventy-five minutes later, I came around from the other direction. A smile was on Trudy's face, and Guinness was pulling on his leash to run the last bit with me.

It won't be long, Trudy said later, and the days will be getting shorter.

These summer days are made for running, if you can get over the heat. You can have a full day and still run in the late afternoon without the sun going down too soon.

Yes, these summer days are made for running. But there are only ten more of them left.

How on earth is that possible!?

11:08:12 PM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []  

Ice-Tea at Dinner

Just moments ago it was too noisy in here. Trudy sat on the floor looking at photos from years-gone-by -- commenting on some, laughing at some, passing a few around.

Get your dad to look at this, she would tell Ben. And he would paraphrase what she had told him to say. And I would just keep typing on my keyboard.

He sat on the floor, too: rolling sometimes on his back, sometimes on his front, always with the dog close at hand. When he wasn't talking with her about the photos, he was whispering into the dog's ear undoubtedly some secret he had meant to share while he was out of town.

Just moments ago it was noisy, with her and him and the dog. But she retreated to bed. Then he did, too. And now it is silent: no wife, no photos, no boy, no dog.

It is silent. They are sleeping. My eyes are wide-opened. And I think I missed the party.

I knew that ice-tea at dinner wasn't a good idea.

12:35:30 AM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []