To everything there is a season. Turn, turn, turn.
Here in the woods Summer has now definitively turned into Autumn.
The last blaze of heat but an ember in the memory.
Now, as the birds perform miraculous harmonies in song I wake at break of dawn to walk among mist wreathed trees.
Chill winds urge me onward.
As I broke into my running stride yesterday the Jukebox in my head selected an irresistible childhood favourite from 1964 which, for two minutes or so, persuaded me that perhaps it was a time to laugh and a time to dance.
Further, as I settled into the pace of the song I realised that, for one day only, the great David Rudisha, twice Olympic 800 metres champion, would not be so far ahead of me as he crossed the finishing line!
What song could produce such a miraculous effect? Well, a song…
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