west texas waltz

I count my blessings, I don’t county my faults
I like to dance like the dickens to the West Texas Waltz
— the Prophet Butch Hancock

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I ran today on a trail I had never been on. Four miles of joy. My knee even forgot to hurt for first 3 miles.

The state park trailhead is only 10 minutes from Dad’s joint . I missed yesterday’s run because of the drive, but it was totally worth it.  I’m thinking a lot of visits are in order. Bonus: I almost face planted into a prickly pear cactus, a longtime ambition of mine.

I guess to folks who aren’t from around here it doesn’t look like much. But I grew up with mesquite trees and prickly pears and dirt and barbed wire. They were my first love. When Mo (my second love) and I  began dating, our running joke was that I would weep longingly at the sight of the prickly pear cactus. I still do. I’m home.

There are the trails where Dad and Brother the Elder trained for our Grand Canyon backpacking trip. Dad and I sat around afterward and compared notes and gazed at the trail map for hours. Smith Boys love our maps. There’s a connection on this trail that’s hard to describe. But easy to feel. I love it.

Oh, well. Unbelievable fun. Two miles of trail explored; 48 to go. I can’t wait.

A good day to be alive indeed …

 

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About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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