Billy and I went to Mount Trashmore this morning. It was magical. Last night the clocks went back an hour. Before we drove off, I noticed that the digital clock in my truck read 9:11. I pulled out a bobby pin from the center console and stuck it in the little nub under “H,” just beneath the numbers of the clock. I pressed it 11 times until the clock read 8:11. There’s something really cool and empowering about turning the clock back once a year.

The air was cool; it was a feel of 48 degrees outside; real temp about 50 or so. It was the kind of air that makes me feel alive. And it was cloudy out and very breezy. The trees danced, dropping loose yellow, orange, and red leaves into the yard and street. It was magical.

There was hardly any traffic on the interstate. I was reminded of a mere 4 years ago when I used to drive that way 5 days a week to work at the Princess Anne office. So glad I don’t do that anymore. It only took 15 minutes to get to the park and there was plenty of space to park.

Billy was like a horse out of the gate when I let him out of the truck. We went toward the mountain. I used the bathroom first. Thankfully no one was in there. He barked while we were in the stall. A minute later we were out, jogging up the side of the mountain (hill). Billy was full speed. We passed the iconic “Virginia Beach” sign/light thing that resides on the side of the hill. It can be seen from Interstate 64. We ran up the hill, Billy smiling. The top was incredible. We were among the ashen sky, wind blowing. We looked out and saw the smaller hills below us and beyond. The lake was off into the distance, trees surrounding it and dancing about in the wind. The interstate cars zipped past down below and the tall business buildings stood aloof in the distance, their laborers sure to be thankful for a day off.

Billy and I jogged across the top of the hill. I scanned the horizon. No one was around. It was Sunday morning. I thought about how fun it’d be to run free with Billy. We could get a citation if the wrong person spots us, I thought.  What if Billy runs after another dog? (There were none around). I unclipped his leash and let him run. I ran away from him and he bolted after me, his face a complete smile, his long pink tongue jostling side-to-side from his wide open mouth like a pinball let loose. We ran back and forth, zig-zagging across the mountain’s face. I hooked Billy back up to his leash and we trotted down the hill. We played on some of the smaller hills a similar game. He liked going fast down the hill – dangerous for me on the other end of the leash. I’m alive, I thought. ~