A practice is something I define as an activity that I do regularly whether or not I feel like it…I’ve knit every day at 16th and Taylor for 41 days in a row now and I don’t want to break the continuity. Today I did not feel like knitting on the hill. The sweet aroma of bread filled my room…there was a chill in the wind outside. I had a busy weekend, and all I wanted to do was putter about my home. I finally got myself out the door and up the hill by 8:00 pm. As I arrived at the bench, the Urban Hiker walked slowly up. I said hi, and continued on my way to fetch the ball of line out of storage in my neighbor’s basement. When I came back, he was still at the bench, doing stretches off the back of the it. Partly because I was in a hurry to unroll the line, and partly because I’m starting to worry that he thinks I’m romantically inclined, I just bade him a good night, and headed down the hill…Two boys came by the bench. One boy set off running along 16th, while the other boy yelled after him, “I’m running this way” and followed the blue line down Taylor Street. C. drove her neighbor’s 90+ year old mom home after dinner at their place. The magic never struck me today, but if I just keep knitting, it’s bound to come back…that’s what a practice is for.