The Scent of the Run
A silent afternoon, but for my pounding feet
And the beat inside my headset which
Inspires me down the road.
Horses nod their heads, and whinny,
As I run by the field
Where they graze in a freedom,
That I attempt to mimic.
I leap across a log, fallen long ago
Yet remaining in place, a landmark on the trail.
Catching air, one foot pushes off the mark
….Floating free, briefly, briefly….
Scent permeates my senses.
The sweet smell of fall really does exist
Emanating from hay, strewn across my path,
Scattered from bales rolled, ready to be stored,
In open barns with metal roofs, or under plastic tarps.
Newly fallen gems carpeting the ground
Mingle, scent, with dirt
Of the earth from which they sprang.
Aroma sweet, before they rot, into skeletal remains
That soften my landing as on and on I trot.
A shadow of the trail remains to guide my way
Through a world that is not mine.
The deer, the squirrel, my friend the blue-gray heron,
Thriving beneath the trees, along a flowing creek,
Barely notice my trek, trekking.
But I know they’re there enjoying night and day.
For a time I contrive that I am one of them,
Except I relish my moment,
For I know the time is short,
As shadows lengthen, and fragrances rise,
And the stench of death remains.
The leaf-strewn path obscures rocks, or bulging roots
Hazardous to interlopers such as The Runner in Hot Pink.
Ah! I relish the run,
Give thanks to the Creator, and
Plod on and on and on.
Stacy Peterson
November 9, 2013
