For those of you not in the know: times are a migraine. Friday was unexpectedly given to me and it was gorgeous. Like the Kids in the Hall movie, “it’s like it’s 76 degrees in your brain.” When given some time outside I normally opt to run, not walk. This is part as a battle since times unknown against love handles, but also because I somehow feel this packs more into it. My brain tells me that a five mile run is five times better than a one mile walk. It’s not, though. You can’t really clear your head when you run. And when I say “you” I mean “I”. I can’t clear my head. It fills with loops. Loops which can drive me a little mad. So, yeah, perhaps TMI, but this is leading up to my walk I took. I stopped at a spanning tree, limbs like elephant legs, and hung out with it; like it was part of my own personal karass. “How’s it going, old timer,” I asked, touching its bark. (It was nice to sit next to something that had lived so very long in that you feel the depth of the concentric rings and begin to understand that seemingly cataclysmic events become tiny skuffs in some inner band.) I took off my shoes and rubbed my feet on its trunk for a little boku-maru