February 10, 2024:
I'm in the desert. The sun is hot. On my face its lack of mercy feels good.
Once there was a riverbank. Now it's dammed. As a small child, my mother and her mother lived near here in a trailer alongside the stream. Now it's condos, where I live today.
This is as much as I can do. About a mile and a half. The sun is hot. On my face its lack of mercy feels good. I'm sixty-eight and I worry about dehydration and sunstroke. Ending before the feeling degrades seems appropriate.