July in the record books, and what have you done? The war is on the horizon, while everyone denies that there is even turbulence. I find it is the effort that it takes move move a single molecule in the world today is what could have started a jet plane decades ago. That whole Alameda conversation in The Voyage Home, that has come to pass.

White noise from silence, many do not know the difference any more. I become ever increasingly out of time and the only one who knows what is going on. Did I ever imagine that I could give the gift of understanding to my children to the level that they have it?

I like to think that even though I get the feeling of being buried alive, all of the debris will suddenly roll away because of my efforts earlier on. If I could, I would see it now. All that I could do is push, then not push. A switching back and forth of voices of reason. One voice telling me that the storm is about to overtake me, the other saying to take a break, your January self will despise you if you do not.

So many years I ran Morningside. The barn was but a speck in my line of sight. There was an eternity between me and that was only halfway, but I always made it. That night, I still had a day to look back on. In the density of these moments, I pull myself out of the moment and place myself into something normal, something in the future.

This sort of escapism has worked well carrying me though the pain of running. I think it is quite intelligent. I think it is quite beautiful.