running for rosé

At the noon hour I walked briskly up State Street, then back down again (meeting accomplished). I didn’t have to speed along. But I had been properly labeled as over some abstract hill when a student-type offered me a seat on the crowded morning bus (second time in a month!) and so I thought that maybe I should strive for a quicker pace during the day. To make up for my perceived slowness. (I really do not mind being older. I do mind being regarded as older.)

I hurried, too, because it’s winter still and winter does not invite leisurely steps. In four months, this storefront will dump the mittens and put out sundresses, but that’s not for four months and in any case, we rush seasons here.





It could be that running from A to B is good for the mind as much as it’s good for the body. It could be. But at the moment, my mind is concentrating so wholeheartedly on other things (work) that I cannot imagine a quick sprint would do it much good. Now, maybe if it was to be followed by a carafe of rosé, preferably with bread and cheese... None were in the offering. Not at the noon hour anyway.