A pleasant, wistful day. A bike around an island a short ferry ride away and a couple of wonderful hikes, strolls, swims, and adventure. Northwest by 60 miles and due Southeast by five. A refreshing kiss of rain after a teasing sprinkle. Remembering the word “petrichor” fondly after forgetting for some time.
How fast is too fast? How slow is too slow? Has your life felt easier since knowing?
Back Forty
7.10.25 – 7.15.25 early mornings and late nights
A cruising altitude of 36,000 feet and 500 knots falls behind me.
The overgrown pasture has a muggy, low hold on early afternoon sun. Beat out above by wind gusts that even out, granting a forgiving breeze.
A body, now dust, lays to rest where it lived and worked himself to death. One of the last few in a dying breed of mid-western cowboy farmers.
“Had my boots on, at least,” he said before he was trampled one final time.
For Papa – a man who refused to quit no matter how many times he was asked.
7.4.25 – late afternoon
Sunshine creeps the temperature back up to the 70’s after a quick rain shower. The air dried rapidly to half weight since my morning walk. A 7 knot wind runs NW, taking a few precariously balanced things out with it. The furtive inland tide jolted me back to consciousness as it crept into the toes of my socks. The air gained freshness as I retreated to higher ground. Creeping laps of water had wafted an algal must fighting the deet clinging to the hairs of my legs.
The high angle bridge looms over the peace of the stream. Down here my day is heady, but the rain always returns and the tide goads me away.
Unless I feel like a swim.
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