Father, my soul cries out to be lifted.
Dark is the woof of my dismal story,
Thorough thy sun-warp stormily drifted!—
Out of the gulf into the glory,
Lift me, and save my story"--George MacDonald
People remarked last night at the local bar association meeting about my recent weight loss. I come to mark sins these days in terms of dinner rolls consumed. Now that the heat is broken, a no-longer-young man's attentions turn to kites unflown and hiking trails unassayed. I like to walk our local Trinity Trail, a nine-mile round trip, at least a time or two a year. I believe it has nearly been a year since I walked the longer section of trail to which I refer. I like the way that mid-way in, one comes upon a place that feels so isolated and yet friendly, somehow. It's not that remote--after all, it's an open-air hiking trail not far from civilization--but it feels less lived-in. I have work to do this weekend, which may distract me, but, otherwise, I intend to take a long walk on a cool trail--failing which, I will simply fly a kite.
