I ran in Mill Creek tonight, 9 or so miles along the Pipeline Trail, all lined with fallen leaves. The valley was clear; the scrub oak (I think) already reddening. It was a perfect run. Arnie a few paces in front of me, until we met a "very scary" and frail woman who looked to be older than dirt and seemed about as threatening as a ground squirrel.

(For what it's worth, the Iranians take the threat of squirrels very seriously.)

After that, Arnold stayed on my heels.

I got home and drank some chocolate milk, my new favorite recovery drink, and went grocery shopping. Kind of homesick for a Pennsylvania Autumn, I decided to bake cheese straws and make chicken soup. The house is warm, the air outside growing cooler and Brad just called, on his way home with a van-load of firewood. We'll unload the van tonight, stacking the wood into very specific piles (if you know Brad, this is no surprise) and imagining winter, fires in the stove, skiing, sleeping under the quilt, the dogs curled near.

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