As my daughter and I drove out through the Mission and the Haight to the Inner Richmond and finally to the venue of the city's championship cross-country races today, in the outer reaches of Golden Gate Park, I couldn't help think back to a year ago, when we made a similar trek.
Today no one and nothing was on either of our minds other than how pumped up she felt about competing once again. Before the race, she set a goal, about where she hoped to finish.
Before the race, she helped a teammate with his hair, tying it into a perfect braid. How small some boys are at this age compared to girls! Of course, she is a tall young woman, at 13.
This team! What a bunch of jokers, all from a small school that takes things like races far less seriously than many of the other independent schools they compete against.
In the end, she met her goal, precisely. I told her I was proud of her, we hugged, and this cross-country season came to an end.
As I drove away after the race, I noticed that the color of some of the leaves on some of the trees are changing, even in here in a city that seemingly knows no seasons.
Yet there always are seasons, aren't there? And the past will never return, so what might have been possible a year ago no longer is. Once one set of leaves have browned and fallen to the earth, their time has passed.
And now it is time for the fruits of a new tree to replace what has been lost. That's what my runner knows.
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