February 77

I didn't know it could get that hot in February.  Yet here it was, 77 degrees on a Thursday.  So I went for a run in the park.  There were a ton of people there -- a few walkers, some frisbee golfers, and the local high school baseball team beginning practice. 

It's like you know it isn't supposed to be this warm, but rather than ponder what we've done to the Earth or what else this might mean, you figure you'll take advantage of the weather while you still can. 

One of the frisbee golfers was topless.  It was not a woman.  Although he did seem to possess a couple of budding physical attributes normally associated with the female anatomy.

The wind had blown all day -- gusty and unrelenting -- like I rarely remember.  I don't know where the wind comes from, but I think it must be from someplace in the past, because it so often awakens some memory.  I sped up, trying to outrun this particular one.

It should have been a beautiful day -- the breeze, the sun, the familiar ping of a bat piercing the air and signifying that summer wouldn't be too long.  But something was eerie.  It wasn't supposed to be this warm.  Not yet.

I continued to ponder as I ran one extra lap than my usual, an attractive girl sitting by herself in the grass unknowingly serving as my motivation.  The wind continued whipping as if we were oceanside. And you knew a storm was probably on the way.

But it never stormed.

I thought for all the world it would.  But the rest of the evening, all night, and into the next morning, there was only the wind -- the past. 

Swirling.  Howling.  Beckoning.

"I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.  I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend.  But I always thought that I'd see you again..."