Picking trash, picking friends

There's so much light these days.  It feels like Easter flipped the power switch, or something.  Because even though the daylight had been seeping into earlier and earlier minutes of the morning, all of a sudden this week, Boom:  I wake up for my 6 a.m. morning run, and I can see the bedroom.  I get dressed without turning a lamp on.  I go outside and the birds are riotous with noise, and the sky is pink and yellow and blue, all at the same time.  It's fabulous.

The trees in the morning sun, as seen from my window.

This morning, as we have done three times a week for the past decade, my friend June and I did our little 2.5 mile route through a nearby neighborhood. It's a wealthy area with no sidewalks, but also very little traffic, and the roads are wide and smooth and so a popular place for walkers, runners, and bicyclists.

As we were finishing up, we passed a large can that had a "FREE" sign posted on it.  We rooted through it:  I found a wooden rake and a couple of wooden garden stakes.  June got an edger and a garden claw.   And then June turned to me, looked us both up and down, and said, "You and I were meant to be friends!"

Indeed.