Turkey Trot

This morning, about 9 o'clock, the 10K runners in Davis' 20th annual Turkey Trot began streaming up 6th St., less than half a block from my house. I could hear them before I could see them, a murmer of sound that swelled as the crowd came into view. It was like being near a river—people filling the street from curb to curb, moving at a steady pace, talking, laughing, an occasional cheer, just like the sound of water as it flows downstream. They just kept coming . . . and coming . . . and coming. I belatedly checked my watch, and clocked more than two minutes before there was any lessening in the volume.

Among the spectators were a man and a little boy. The boy was really small, wearing a sweatshirt with the hood up, and from my second-story vantage point, he looked exactly like a garden gnome. When the two of them reached the curb, the boy just joined in with the runners, his dad falling into step beside him. Everyone cheered.