“Three miles. Another early morning run. Get ‘er done.”
This mantra beat in my head as I ran down the path. The morning was bejeweled: Mars, Jupiter and Venus beamed out of the early sky canvas. My footsteps kept time with my breathing; a quiet tune from my ipod played in my ears as my eyes peered through the dawn darkness, watching the path ahead. “Another day, another run…get ‘er done and get to school.”
My steps slowed slightly. Ahead on the path, in the center of the path, was a smallish thing. It didn’t move. It appeared grayish in the early morning gloom. I approached carefully. It still didn’t move. Step, step, step. Breathe, breathe, breathe. I shined my small light on…a gallon of milk. There in the middle of the early morning bike path, in the middle of my run, was a very ordinary (but very mysterious) perfectly intact gallon of milk. Humph. I kept running.
When I run in the morning, I don’t run a loop. I run what I call an “out-and-back.” I’ve measured it. A mile-and-a-half out to the bridge, turn around and come back. An “out-and-back.” Simple enough. Except today I was left wondering: would the gallon of milk be there on my way back? Run, run, run. Step, step, step. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
I wasn’t disappointed. On my return trip back down the path, it appeared out of the early morning gloom. An early morning sentinel watching over the path: one gallon of cold, white, 2% milk — perfectly ordinary and perfectly mysterious. Why was it there? Why had it been left behind and would someone return for it when they realized they had nothing to pour on their breakfast cereal?
I thought about that gallon of milk all day. It distracted my thoughts as I taught vocabulary and spelling, reading and math. Someone had left their milk behind. Someone couldn’t answer and respond positively to the inquiry: GOT MILK?
Can’t wait to see what will appear on the path tomorrow morning.