You know that whole Boy Scout maxim that says you can tell which way north is based on the side of the tree the moss is growing on?
Until recently, Jesse’s ma Cheryl had a big white minivan that we lovingly referred to as the Toboggan. The Toboggan took me to multiple dead-end job interviews this January, and shortly after was turned in for a bright shiny gold Subaru. Good trade. Anyway, the Toboggan’s passenger door handle had moss growing under it. Just growing there. Why not?
Jesse and I are training for the Portland marathon–he for the full, I for the half–with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training. We go for training runs through the campus of the community college down the street, and it’s full of moss-covered trees, rocks, statue art.
And because every day here in the Pacific Northwest is a veritable slugfest (and because I can’t resist):
With Jesse’s pointer finger for scale. It’s so little! Destined for big things, to be sure.
We take our quick mid-week runs here; 30 minutes of trotting and we switch to a brisk walk. Rain (mostly) or shine. It’s only a two-minute drive from our front door, and I’m pretty sure it’s an extension of the magical area in which our house is situated. Keep going, Jesse! The unicorns are just up ahead.