Slow.

Watching trail runners fly down the path on a different mission than mine. Not better or worse - just a different purpose. My purpose is to go slow. I might miss something if I go faster. A shape out of place, a pop of color that isn’t brown or green, the gloss shine of a sticky mushroom peeking out from behind a leaf. The Creek Trail rewarded me for my efforts with glossy golden wax caps pushing through the underbrush of fallen leaves. Despite the frosts we have had, they emerge as bright as fresh pressed orange juice.