writing

Walking On

Gone are the cool early mornings.

Walks are sticky and warm now,

even before the sun rises.

Heat and humidity attack my hair,

turning its strands into damp ringlets

just for stepping outside.

The birds are already active,

singing their morning songs.

The heat doesn’t bother them.

Air conditioning beckons me home, but

I must push on and get back on track,

only one-third the way to my goal.

But man, look at those calves!

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