Me and my ten year old shoes. Broke in, broke down, falling apart.
Me and Bill* walkjogrun, leaving behind ringing telephones, piles of dishes, dirty laundry, questions and demands of a busy day.
Copper beetles congregate under the lampposts at each corner. I crush them, oblivious til their little bodies crunch under my feet. Stray cats run for their lives and tremble in my wake.
She, the germaphobe, sweats to the oldies and sometimes Roald Dahl comes along for a quick constitutional. James and the Giant Peach, The BFG, Fantastic Mr. Fox: the gang's all here.
Just me and the harvest moon and constellations I can't name but I still know like long lost friends.
Breathless, wheezing, exhausted but somehow rejuvenated.
----*Bill Withers, that is, cause ain't no sunshine when I'm gone.