Son, Daughter.

The dogwalk, for whatever reason, now regularly sends me by a young man, a jogger, who lives in the neighborhood. Safe to say he's wired differently than most of the rest of the world. I see him in the park, up on the hill, all in between. Maybe he's running more these days. Maybe I'm dogwalking more. Maybe our orbits are for the time being lined up better than they have been. I don't know for sure. What I do know: last week, when I passed him at the bottom of the hill, he shouted, I'm getting skinny! I'm getting sexy! as he went by.

Today we found him on the Buffalo Creek end of the park. He yelled something from about a hundred yards off, but I have no idea what it was. When he got up on us, though, he stopped, pointed at the dog. Is that your son? he asked me.
More or less, I said.
Is he a boy or a girl? he wanted to know.
A girl.
So that's your daughter?
I guess so.
The dog sniffed him. He made no effort to pat her. She made no effort to get patted. What's her name? he asked.
Maddie.
He broke out in a pretty fair smile. I have a friend, he said.
Oh, yeah? I said. I had no idea what he was talking about, no idea where the conversation was going, no real idea where it had been.
Maddie, he said, like it was the plainest fact in the world. And then he took off running again.

Gray and chilly. Hat weather. Coat weather, for the easily-coated. Rain coming in. Don't know what else to tell you other than that.