She moved past my field of vision, a flash of red. Her dark hair would not hide her face and eyes and bewitching smile. All at once vitality, a touch of style, and the wisdom of a fox in her prime. My dark heart noticed. Then sputtered… and… off and running! I did not know I still had it in me. From that moment on, I became my old self, open and joking, moving easily, and the world was mine again. Thank you beautiful woman, you made my day.

By Claw All year Claw had been "clawing" his way back to some semblance of form. Several setbacks had beset the Great Man, none of which could be fixed by any remedies he knew of. He tried the proven basics: animal sacrifice, bloodletting, a Great Salt Lake enema, and ancient native peyote rituals (several of those)... but nothing could bring back the Claw of old. The ass kicking Claw. He wanted himself back. But as the months ticked by, frustrating months where he was subjected to the humiliation of being passed up on the road by old ladies confined to the iron lung, biggest loser contestants who dropped out of the biggest loser competition because they never lost anything, and even a pack of amputee sea turtles that were heading cross country on an ultra-fondo, yes the months he loathed with the loathing of a loathsome lout. Those kinds of months. Slowly the power had returned to his body. Slowly the sun dial he used as a cyclometer was awakened from it's long slumber. Slowly the crusty deposits receded from the crevices that festooned his pock-marked loins. He knew this to be true because he BEAT Mike Pratt by 3 seconds at the emigration hillclimb. Yes! "The return of the ASS KICKING" he thought as he soaked in his daily brine bath, small crustaceans nipping at his dangly bits. And the Double M Road Race would be the site of his triumphant return to his throne of He Who Was To Be Feared by all those who DARED to challenge him, all those who had slowly gotten up from the pile of the defeated he had left in his wake the last several years when he well and truly WAS an ass kicker! Yes those men would now cower and whimper as the Great Claw beat their asses to a grainy pulp. Or at least he wouldn't get dropped, hopefully. And the race DID start out just as he dreamed, with a click into pedals and a whirl of mountain air tinged with Old Spice and Ben Gay, the race was on as the riders pedaled furiously, hoping the tenacious Claw would falter so they could relax without the limpet that hugged their draft and harshed their buzz with the reality that a 52-year-old could hang. HA! He was giddy with the sensation of imminent victory! The trophy girl would be his! He would smother her with his garlic-scented pheromones as he collected his pay check, made a few well reasoned comments to Phil and Paul, and gracefully entered the helicopter with a switch of his svelte ass cheek, winging away to the hotel... and champagne with the team, his team! But then, suddenly and without foreshadowing, without foretelling, and also with a distinct lack of foreboding his dream of victory, or at least retrieval of small smidgen of dignity, was quashed by an unfortunate situation. The road turned up.

Two women with their toddlers are camped out by the side of the road, holding scrawled signs that plead their case. “Please help us.” I've seen this before, lots of times. But this one jolts me: the lockdown is squeezing hard. These women are struggling to get the basics. And the children they held in their arms, clinging to their mommas, are waiting there in the hot sun. The need is all around them as they sit and wait for someone to notice. My heart goes out to them, and I stop to give them money. As the woman approaches, I begin to speak, but my words stop in my throat. I see the child's eyes. A blank stare, tired and hollow. This is not how a small child should look. For a moment my tears slice through the hard world, and I drive away with my small dogs wriggling beside me, safe and sweet.

“Only one thing's unassailable” he muttered… “Pink Floyd” (ooh babe lovely in his head). Everything else so far today is deeply annoying: TD AmeriTrade's bearded spokesman prattles on about investing… “smug pudhawker”. And mustachioed Wayne Carini is having a full body orgasm over his latest barn find… “puerile tallywanker”. “The promise of bullshit”. He put them away (ooh, ah).

Time spent with family at the cabin in Montana had turned sour for Tom. He sat alone, away from the others and he could feel his heart aching, and he knew it was because his pride was broken — dashed upon the kitchen floor. The lump in his throat was just subsiding, and he thought back on the moment when he felt himself explode. It took everyone by surprise because it was so out of character for him. Tom looked down at his boots and frowned. He had these boots because they were good for doing outdoor stuff, like hiking, or horseback riding, or work around the cabin. They were several years old, but they still looked new. They were neatly placed on his feet, laces tied with the usual care, and ready to work. He wished the boots were scuffed and weathered, and he hated their newness. He kicked at the dirt and looked up at the yard, and the dirt road, and the mountains beyond. As he sat there, he thought about his wife, and his daughter, and the rest of the family who were all back inside, and he wondered what they thought of him at that moment. He was embarrassed as heck because he never lost his temper, and his regret mixed with his despair, and the sadness stretched out over the yard with tall grass. He wanted to go back in time, and erase what happened, and go back to the easy, confident man he was before. It was a silly thing he wanted and he had not even given a thought to his simple offer because, of course, something needed to be done and it was a small thing. And when he stated what he was going to do, it was said without hesitation and without fear because he never realized the fragile person he was, after all. And when his offer was rebuked, and his objection ignored, the walls came crashing down, and he was left sitting at the edge of the yard hating his new boots. Where he sat was the place he and his wife had built their cabin of dreams, and where he brought his young family to see the rugged beauty, and the lake. Those many years he was the leader of his small troop, as the kids played and grew up, and his wife looked to him for his strength and his wisdom. Over all those years, the place they came to had settled into a comfortable, familiar place where they aged their dreams, and their life together. It was the family's place now and they shared it with love, and they moved quietly aside for those they cared about. And as he thought and felt those things, he looked at his hands. They were resting on his knees and they had not moved for the whole time he was sitting here. He considered the weathered surface, the age spots that now peppered the skin and they looked somehow thinner are more frail than he remembered. Those same hands had held his babies, and his heart had bursted with love when they came into the world, and he was gentle as he held their small sweet bodies, and he carried them with the pride of fatherhood, and he knew he would always protect them. He thought about all the years he had provided for his family, and he was a successful engineer, and his sharp mind and his strong body had served the family in all matters, and he had held the babies, and he had driven the long miles, and he had fixed the broken things, and he had written the checks. And these thoughts were around him, and he knew his hands and brains and body were capable and strong because that was him. Then a cold wind blew hard in from the lake, and he steadied himself. He thought about his family waiting inside, and he felt a warm glow in his chest that comforted him. He decided to let the bad feelings go, and they swirled around in his mind and filtered away. The world stood still, a moment passed, and he drew a deep breath and felt the calm of the place of their dreams. Then he stood up straight, and went inside, and took off his boots and sat with the others in the cabin, and looked out the window at the yard with the tall grass.