The Long Way Around

The first mile of today’s morning run across Branko’s Bridge began with a refreshing full body baptism—a Niagara Falls of muddied gutter water by the ordained local bus.

Mile 2, I crossed paths with a raggedy black and white kitten firing a penetrating volley of heart-rending and spirit crushing pitiable mews. She retreated and hid from me; I could offer her no help or solace.

Miles 6 through 9 brought with them, not one, not two, no, not three, but four separate close shaves with packs of up to five brazen canine units giving chase at my heels, with gnashing teeth and vexed eyes. I made the egregious error of eclipsing into the border of their territories, which, much to my chagrin, included the sidewalks alongside the flooded industrial roads.

I slowed my stride to a walk’s pace, and took the long way around.

Sometimes, the long way around is a short-cut in disguise.