As we run down our road, drivers in the few cars that pass give a friendly wave. An occasional dog races out, barking to ensure we keep moving by. On this sunny Sunday afternoon, many neighbors work outside, splitting wood, making repairs. One man stokes the fire at the forge in his blacksmith shop.
We run past houses with smoke curling from chimneys, past the state police academy with its metal gates locked for the weekend (or perhaps until the next session), and past the shuttered sawmill, where Cherisse got the lumber for our shed and for our garden’s raised beds, before a fire put it out of business.
Running up and down steep hills in a cold wind, taking deep breaths of clean air, it feels good to be alive, healthy, and living on this quiet country road.