The sun arises from slumber
clearly lumbering over the horizon 
of treetops and hills.
It will be fully awake before
the trek is through.

In shadowed silhouette
steps fall on the dew-fed grass.
The geese milling in the field
take a gander at him as he
gets limber; stretches for the sky

alone. No one to disturb.
Tightening the laces on his running shoes,
he chooses to head out counter
to the norm. There will be only
a few more warm days to play.

Echoes fall, filling the expanse
of field and falling foliage,
reverberating off of the berm, 
the early bird and worm getting
five more minutes of sleep.

He starts out, keeping pace.
Not a race, a run.
The sun still thirty minutes
from full bloom as he zooms
around the track.

All he hears are the cackles of geese
and the ease in which his feet land
asphalt slapped by rubber sole,
he is in control. He is on track.
Pick ‘em up, put  ‘em down, all around.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014


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