The morning was cold. Hands chilled as I held Baka’s lead. The ground damp from the previous day’s rain. I still wanted more. And I my wish was granted so conveniently after a brief light 6 Km run. On the return leg I passed by St. George’s church, a quaint little church that appears seldom used these days, and my eye caught the sight of how the the steeple stuck out against Boreas’ approach. Greeks 1, God nil.
Further along and closer to home, I started my final descent. The beat of the drums in my ear could have been mistaken for the announcement of Boreas’ coming, instead of some techno beat providing the cadence for my foot falls. The final kilometre home was no sprint, but the sky was still saying that I had better not linger, as it had other plans in mind. Cool.