Oh no... it seems it has only taken six days for me to fall behind. So today, I'm going to make up for it. With extra pictures. Lots of extra pictures.
Today I felt like I was running through a Tim Burton film. Or an Edgar Allan Poe poem. I stepped out into the grainy Sunday mist and tackled the streets until I reached Stephen's Green. The cold air streamed over my bare arms as I cut through the thick wind. The hair on my arms raised as I looped around the green once, twice, thrice, and again. They remained standing on edge with every turn, and I realized the trees around me, basking in the slate grey canvas behind them, were reaching out their weathered, arthritic fingers toward me as I raced past. They groped at my back and twisted their fingers in the air. I kept moving, daunted by the melancholy of it all. It exhilarated and awakened me, to have my haunted companions tickling winter sky.
..but I do love disappearing in the romance of it, as I push my body into another mile of exhaustion. There's no high quite like it.
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