Songs too long unsung are heard again. Beaten tri-colored ribbons on a small silver stereo thirst to see the competition again. Smoky note cards. Undiscussed meetings by the shack for speed. Or LSD. shhhhhh, don't tell. Stories for select listening only, only us. Loves, losses. Advice from a round table: the elders are not the only ones who speak. Miles upon miles of strife. Heartache. Pain. Ecstasy. Immunity to the world. The shade of the woods protects me and I resent the strike of the sun. Suffering each in her own, celebrating as one: We will celebrate.
I want the world to know what it's like to be on a team like this.
This is what the fall season means to me.

and now it is virtually over. I've run my last race on the home course that I can navigate forwards, backwards- put me anywhere in the vicinity of the trails and I can find the quickest way back to the fields. I know the short cuts and I recognize every corner. Now I've spent my last time kicking the butt of that treacherous hill we all hate, dying already in our push to the finish. I have run my last race along the river, through the trees that snatch your untucked shoelaces as you pace by. It feels like it's all over. and I don't think I like that too much.

even though the important races are just beginning.