I’m sitting in the grass, staring up at a man asleep on his backpack. My own back is up against a tree and it kind of hurts but it kind of feels good - like a massage - a little wake up call for the trapezius muscles.
"I’m about to be thirty," I think; a thought which has become more and more regular as that particular birthday crawls closer.
I’ve certainly felt heavier this year. Not in poundage, but in tiredness of the limbs. As if the earth has to pull all that much harder to keep you on it.