I never was a runner. Never knew there was such
a thing, really, except competitions and all.
But now that I've begun my small
plunking along in early mornings, each day longer and with more ease than the
previous, I watch the way in which the yearning rises up.
As I waken. As I
wander about, feeding birds and letting dogs out. My legs and my brain and my
self are all crooning 'Go. Run. Stretch. PUSH."
I turn, look over my shoulder, as if someone is whispering in my ear, as if a small morning wind just passed by and muttered a pesky something.
But it's only our self, isn't it. Our self that leans further, in the direction we have begun to know.
I turn, look over my shoulder, as if someone is whispering in my ear, as if a small morning wind just passed by and muttered a pesky something.
But it's only our self, isn't it. Our self that leans further, in the direction we have begun to know.
(artist of this remarkable thing unknown)
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