"Thweep! Thweep!" go the plucked phone lines. Wind gusts sway tree branches to strum the wires, catching and letting go. A rumble-thrum ricochets across Brookeville Rd as flat metal roofs rip-rattle at the industrial park. Hurricane Sandy is approaching this mid-Monday afternoon. Rain comes down in near-horizontal pellets that sting like sleet. Official records show 30-40 mi/hr blasts and temperature falling through 50°F. A great time to run, stretch the legs and see how everything feels after yesterday's Marine Corps Marathon. Within the first mile stop twice to pull up sagging anklet socks. Throw them away as soon as the run is over. Beltway traffic is thin.
Few branches have fallen, but bronze-scarlet-ocher autumn leaves coat the path to form a slippery surface. Puddles dapple Ireland Dr down to Rock Creek Trail. The stream fills its banks and scrapes the shores. A young couple clad in slickers and hoods pause on the bridge near mile marker 1.7 to photograph the flood; they're startled by my footfalls on the wooden span. Under the high railroad trestle waters on the path are almost knee deep. I wade cautiously, one hand on the stone retaining wall for stability. Squidgy up the stairs at Ray's Meadow, past a boarded-over apartment building with signs that warn of contamination. Climb the hill to the Capital Crescent Trail, then dance through rivulets and pools to its end. A porta-john door bangs shut as a young man emerges and dashes to his car.
^z - 2012-11-19