Sometimes*
Year ago, weekend dreams used to be longer with olive trees, purple butterflies, starry sky and yellow daisies - sometimes, full blown wild flower garden. Experienced the shade from canopy of trees only while walking through parks or sidewalk paths and breezes were limited to Mulholland highway vista points and Santa Monica mountains.
Year ago, I couldn’t tell — how the blanket of snow looks like top of Mammoth mountains during summer, how chilly Campbell park trail feels like in early mornings, how beautiful the moon looks like over the Golden gate bridge through that misty fog, how quickly PG&E trail parking lot fills up at 06:00 am winter mornings, the smell of wet clay and silence in drizzling rain - sometimes, framed landscape of seasons.
Year ago, vacations were more of driving through scenic routes often avoiding the scenic views carrying bags filled with candy-striped t-shirts and Bahamas shorts while footwear was confined to crocs/sperry’s, drawn from my vivid memories never did the bag complain about sweaty race shirts, stinky compression socks and sometimes, the four pairs of running shoes.
Year ago, average daily mobile usage stats ballooned with streaming service apps but not strava (or) conversations about running in rancho run-club watsapp group building ground stones of possibilities with sharing stories of how birds fly in running shoes. Units of measurement were more of the no. of Lionel Richie songs played before reaching home but not cadence and sometimes, pop.
P.S: Year ago, I dreamt of running a half. Dreams come true
, Sometimes*
