This morning, a rest day, I continued the journey through the Dostoevsky, listening to classical FM.
Concierto de Aranjuez came up and for a few moments, the book, the music, seemed to meld and mesh.
Sunday – the day I probably enjoy running the most – feels empty when as today I had swapped the long run to yesterday.
But, for a few moments, with the book and the music, the morning, time in itself came to a pause.
A delightful respite, perhaps a true rest, even if for a few minutes, swept the week away, awaiting new beginnings tomorrow morning.
Writing about Running 