Running East

towards the west coast of England. We’re running castle to castle again come February.
But still a long way to go before that.

The dog is staring at me. We’ve both grown soft on this side of summer and I believe he feels a similar ambivalence facing the prospect of leaving this warm little library and hitting the trail. In the dark. In the cold. It takes a special kind of faith to push against the nature of things.

But I’ll lace up my ugly red shoes, pull on some cheap gloves, and grab his lead.