{Friday
Writings for Randos - A weekly post that features pieces from other
writers that touch some facet of the Randonneuring experience, even if
that was not the author's intent. It's stuff that's best read out loud -
slowly.} This week it's . . .
An excerpt from:
Cassidy raced along to a night rhythm, pocketa pocketa, a steady tattoo of pleasant solitary effort that starred him under many streetlights, rendered him anonymous in dark neighborhoods, sent him smoothly up and down the gentle hills of Kernsville while dogs howled and Mom and Pop passed the mashed potatoes.
A passerby might have thought him in a trance, but he missed nothing in his darkling backdrop; the smells of winter blooming flowers, clean coolness of blackjack oak, damp pepper of Spanish moss. The sounds of early evening teevee silliness, dinner, children's squabbles. He was a shaded meteor plumbing a twinkling universe. The night made even more acute the runner's senses, lent more poignancy to his aloneness, made his fast pace seem even faster, generated an urgency, a subdued excitement in the act of solitary motion.
Once a Runner
by John L. Parker, Jr.
A passerby might have thought him in a trance, but he missed nothing in his darkling backdrop; the smells of winter blooming flowers, clean coolness of blackjack oak, damp pepper of Spanish moss. The sounds of early evening teevee silliness, dinner, children's squabbles. He was a shaded meteor plumbing a twinkling universe. The night made even more acute the runner's senses, lent more poignancy to his aloneness, made his fast pace seem even faster, generated an urgency, a subdued excitement in the act of solitary motion.
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