This was for the latter. It was impromptu and it was divine.
I slipped off my jacket, laced up the pair of spare running shoes I keep in the back and took off on an almost empty Reston trail.
I walked east, and the air sung around me. Crickets were tuning up for their evening chorus and the swamp radiated with heat and insect buzz.
Fifteen minutes in I joined the Cross-County Trail, my first time on it in months. I walked across a bridge that smells of creosote, spotted a stand of Black-eyed Susans in the meadow.
It was Thursday. Light was golden before the gloaming. I was almost home.