It’s always been easier for me to run at night. A quick little 12 minutes, most of a mile down a moonlit desert dirt road, and then the walk back.
Great horned owl atop a transmission pole, its call like a heart asking what hearts always ask. Who-who? Who-who?
And then answered by another great horned a half mile toward the mountains.
Moon was coy, now hiding a cloud, now showing half its full face peeking out from behind.An odd feeling, this being not-depressed. I could get used to it.The local coyotes broke a short song over the rocks, one soloist letting fly with a sustained and soulful tremolo.
And then back to the house, grab the leash and head back out again with company.