Day

Gray day and chill, with a tricky wind that finds every crevice. I take Otis to the forest. It’s still bare from winter, the trees like memories of themselves. Leaves carpet the ground, achy from all the rains. Pairs of birds arrive from the south and flirt through the skies. I’d seen John Adams the night before and wonder now if General Washington will appear over that next rise. We start to run. A mile up we reach the golf course and turn East and this step, this very step right here…