Written over many years, this piece came back to me this morning. I thought that I wanted to run but it turned out that I needed to write.

Barbed wire and uncut grass under a lowering sky doesn’t a field of dreams make.

I thought about it while running this morning because a flight of F-16s flew over head, their approach heard before they were seen. Even in the peaceful morning rain, the terror that is implied in war planes overhead was palpable. I came back and looked at this and said what the hell, maybe time to put it out there.

For an instant it felt like the heavy gates opened, like the light is shining through the crack. Like it is time to wake up. It’s better to wake up they say, better that than to come to.

“I’m glad to hear that you are writing” she said. After a considerable silence, she added, “What a horrible price I’ve paid for your writing.”

Outside the rain kept coming. Cold, gray, hard driving rain from the north. Winter rain. Charlie stood outside the market, tried to remember what he knew he had forgotten, gave up and ran through the rain to the car.

Three easy pieces, run a little, walk a little, get on home.