Sunlit tire tracks and footprints crossed
into an ever building, ever fading map—
all those who came before me,
and also buried there, the old me
who traced this trail a thousand times.
The winter sun casts long shadows
which beg my memory to follow,
let it grow long and wide and deep
and keep all of these average days.
Nothing much: a typical weekday run.
Yet this once the shadows stretched
just so to meet me, and the muskrat skirted
the water’s edge with its tail wagging,
and ripples caught, released the sunshine,
stirred a wave of yes, this is my life.
#WriteAsRun Prompt No. 8: Look with fresh eyes.
Run a usual route as if for the first time. Pay attention to what you see, hear, and smell. What do you notice? How do you feel? Is this same old, same old run any different?