thispresentsojourn

I’ve found my summer skin. In Texas we tend to spend the first few days disappointed in the stickyhot and allergy swells, but when comes the contrast of peeling pink shoulderbones and its hard brown freckles, well, really no-thing is left for complaining.

Returning to my summers’ prior running discipline, I spend an hour a day just above the sleepest slope I know in Dallas — a concrete path equal in height to the top of the deepest forest I know in Dallas.

It’s a network of sunset-lit trails and paths leading to places yet unseen. There’s nothing esoteric about any of this writing.  I’ve just recently discovered this area after a multiplicity of years jogging and an occasional karoking on the concrete-laid-way above.  And now after only few hours exploring earlier and photographing a band later this afternoon has, well, increased the curiosity to a summit.

White Rock is a place I connect with solitude and with silence, and yet! in the past year it has transformed into something much richer as shared.  What is this year, wonder what next year will, well, see. But a docklay never lets down, it continues to be confirmed.