Don't listen to the ghosts that walk your hallways, heaven is a dog and it clings to thee

Fireflies in the graveyard on tonight's run. I took it on my phone, while I was running, and I was listening to this song.

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I wonder if my dad ever thought he'd have a girl child born in the same year as his football number, 86, and if she'd ever cut out the neck of his 30-year-old-soft Furman football 86 t-shirt and wear it to sleep in when she was grown up. Grown up girl child with the scraped up knees and prize-fighter black and red knuckles.

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My night time routine has gotten a lot different that it used to be. I come home. Sometimes I'm talking to my mom on the phone. (I was tonight.) I change into running clothes and water my garden for 20-30 minutes, weed, refill the birdbath. Then I come in, wash up, and start dinner. Eat dinner. Sit on the front porch after. Then a nice twilight run. Shower, chores, a little writing. Tonight a little work.