Mark Bennett

Sometimes, the only sound I hear while jogging is the muffled squish of my sneakers hitting the pavement on that old country road. I run that stretch of “North Prairieton,” as I call it, almost every morning. Depending on the time of year, the sun could be rising over the banks of Honey Creek, or the North Star might be twinkling above it. I hear owls, songbirds, crows, blue heron. I see deer, foxes, skunks and possums. An eagle lifted into the air in front of me once. Aside from the occasional car or truck passing by, it’s quiet and peaceful.