Today I ran the same 4 kilometers.
But, leaving the canopy of birch branches, heading onto the unsheltered stretch between the lake and the pasture, I looked to the left. I felt a knot in my stomach. The tree was gone.
The solitary tree that stands in the field, that changes day to day. My mind was shuffling through possible explanations. I nearly opened my mouth to say something to E.
“Someone cut down the tree.”
Then I remembered.
There are two pastures on this trail. Two unsheltered stretches of gravel path between water and pasture.
I had let my mind wander this morning. And what I learned was that, even after seven months of running this trail, I still don’t know these fields well enough to distinguish between them when I meet them unexpectedly.
And to think, I’d wondered if I would get bored.