As a returnee from the wilds of Writers’ Block or Bloc, if you want to get all fancy and effete and eastern liberal snobby on me, as a returnee I have to say that during my trip to whatever land I simply found nothing funny, sad, poignant, depressing, humorous, topical, historical or interesting enough to push me to these dimly lit pages.  Nothing that I would want to share although there is plenty of sad and depressing news to go around for all of us these days.  I’ll only say that I don’t know that I can take another 90 something days of this.

I suppose you could have Writers’ Block or Bloc if you lived during the time of the Soviet Bloc.  There are no options or opportunities to add the letter “K” to Soviet Bloc.  Maybe the KGB had dibs on all the “K’s” in Mother Russia.  Whatever.  I’m back.  Hoo -ha.

But to the title which I suppose I eventually need to get to at some point to make you continue reading.

No need to set the scene in detail but I’m walking with my kids on a cool and humid Saturday morning a few weeks ago.  Both are veterans of their local HS cross country teams.  If you have a kid who ran or runs XC, as we fancy, effete…see above, all know that this is prime training time for races that begin in about two weeks and continue on to early November.

So, as we’re walking one kid takes a deep breath of the cool, wet air that’s hanging low in the tall grass and says, ” Smells like Cross Country.”

There’s no mistaking that fragrance at that time of the day at that time of the year at that time of your lives.

 

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