While the day was young, I went for a run--just down the block past the old tree with the tire swing. Then I ran on for a day and another. The leaves of autumn jogged with me and the winter flew by. I got a second wind in the spring and decided to not go home but instead run right through July and the dog day hills of many summers. Two Christmas days I ran, then a few more...I lost count but I was running. I ran through rain, I ran over mountains. A few more years turned turned into a life, and in celebration, I sprinted down hills and across streams and dreams.
I ran by my old house yesterday and stopped to sit down for a rest. It was good to stop for a while and I tried to recall my life. I remembered trails calling out for me to explore the next turn, horizons inviting me to see the other side. I remember times that I was happy and running was always a part of that. My body creaked as I tried to get up from the old rocking chair, and I wished for a glass of lemonade or a friend to talk to. But there was only the rocking chair and a wooded trail a mile away--the choice was mine. So, before the day faded away, I went for a run.