A Kirsten GM

Well, didn't today greet with another near idyllic unsparingly springly yellow eyed dawn-with just the proper wake-you-up snap of kewl cool in the morn's air? I was already dressed, color coordinated black, for a run; but, I wasn't all that enthusiastic. I've taken the semester off and I am missing running mates. To my happy surprise, spring obliged by filling my peripheral vision with just enough motion that I quickly turned my head and noted my new friend, Kirsten, jogging past my drive with hair tossing first one way then the other. That signal was like a white tail in the woods to a hunter's keen eye. I don't use easy combs to hold my hair in place either when I want to be noticed running.

Now, as I was also dressed for the chase, I apologized to the fence fairies who watch over my squirrels, quickly broadcasted a batch of unsalted peanuts around and about the deck (I usually place them in neat groupings along the rail), screwed the top onto the peanut container even as I began to run down the driveway with my own hair bouncing side to side, and tossed the container by the huge unblossomed mum bush before racing onto the sidewalk and pursuing Kirsten in all earnest-even moreso as I caught her looking back for the briefest of spy-abouts. One only looks back if one is looking back to see if one is being watched or followed. So she had seen me puttering about cleaning the deck of yesterday's peanut shells. Was that what prompted here to jog past my house at a perfectly opportune time. My heart beat quickened at the thought of this new aspect of the chase afoot?

I reached into my reserve and quickened the pace of my feet to match that of my heartbeat when she truned the corner and was momentarily out of sight. Those of you who enjoy giving a good sprint your all will relate to the experience of running so fast that the air rushing past your ears, at times, attains an almost musical level of resonance as your being nears full flight. I have fallen at this speed before only to tumble over the grass and flip back onto my feet without missing the mark of the goal of the quarry-the arbitrarily chosen finish line. In this case the goal was the beginning of a delightful, if momentarily winded, run to run on side by side with Kirsten.

Then, she turned her head back again, saw me, and stopped. When I reached her we greeted appropriately casual. I caught my wind briefly and suggested we continue on together. As she and I resumed running in no time we found ourselves laughing aloud trying to get our hair to swing in symmetry. We were immediate friends. She comfortably took the lead and turned the corner after only two blocks. A short first jog is a good sign. She invited me inside for breakfast when we returned to our street. I acquiesced with narry a made up protest.

Once inside, she ambled into her room and changed into the outfit she was wearing when we first met-pale orange gossamer top and all. I freshened up in the freshening up room while she prepared a scrumptious, hardy, protein laden breakfast that only the young eat without reservations. I will not tell how much I enjoyed the breathtaking view sitting across from this blossoming beauteous girl at the family breakfast bar-with braces crowning her broad, white smile. If I had not been chewing sausage links and once over lightly egg, I would have been salivating as I dabbed the yellow at the corner of my lip with a napkin.

Yum, ξms