Running in the warm evening, grass finally greening on the roadsides. I feel a sad affection for the trailer park, for the rocky path that I run through the gravel pit. I can see light flashing from the surface of the river through the trees. The return of colour and light and hope.

I'm scheduled to go to the mine in ten days. It's bad timing.

Up late last night painting trim and baseboards. Stripping more clothes from the closet, dishes from the kitchen. Paring our lives to fit once again into 800 square feet. Either way, it's a good exercise, and it feels good to let go of so much stuff.

The mine? Camp? What did I agree to? This: