Running beyond the edge of suburbia

RWBB

We glide, side by side, matching stride and pace. Silent, except for breath, the quiet thump of rubber on asphalt, simultaneous, the steady rhythm accompanied by a pattern playing in my head. Sunny and warm, a gentle tailwind matches our pace, leaving the sensation that we’re standing still, inhaling the pollen-laden air we just breathed out. The heat on our faces magnified by the stillness of the air surrounding us. Waves ripple across knee-high grass fields starting at the edge of the road and wash into the distance, crashing into the wooden fence marking the end of public land, the edge of suburbia. Red-winged blackbirds flit and peep, looking for attention, but not from us. Conversations of life set aside or internalized, organized for a later time—house repairs, trip planning, job stress, concerns about our kids, financial matters—queued to spill out as we walk the block at the end of our run. Decades-old familiarity amplified by shared time and experience—physical, mental, emotional—strengthening bonds already cast in steel.

Image stolen shamelessly from the internet.

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