Ah, the sweet smells of fall! Fire places burning, roasted chesnuts, and ... weed?

I can't help but stare dreamily at the burnt red colored mountains reflecting on the lake, my feet hitting the pavement and feeling lighter from the mere beauty of the autumn moment. I take a deep, crisp, and gratifying inhale. Wait a minute... I know that smell. Then I notice the woman just in front of me, sitting on the lakeside stone wall, a small pipe cupped protectively in her hands. Marijuana. That is definitely weed. Or hash. Or whatever you want to call it. It just seems so out of place in this moment that I actually start laughing.

But hell, I don't blame her! Watching the sun set the sky alight with reds and oranges and corals against the indigo mountains and the rising moon with a little herb has got to be--as most stoners would say--fucking sweeeeeeeet. I suppose that's one way of taking in nature's beauty. Then again, my new habit of running at sunset is giving me the best high I could ask for.

So I keep running, leaving Mary Jane and her friend on the stone wall. The occasion crunch of leaves under my feet interrupts the songs playing through my earphones. I mentally sigh at the energy pumping through my veins and allow my breath to launch me forward. God, it feels good to be here. Right here. Right now. Just like this.