The path I ran today was yellow on dirt.
Leaves, though the smell could not yet reach me
bounced sparkles of sunlight back to me as I scoured the ground for
tree roots and solid stones. It was glorious!
It began as usual, compulsive begging
to the Lord
with each pounding of my heel.
As if he couldn’t hear me.
As if he wasn’t there.
Unraveled, I found myself receiving
the friendly greetings
of both people and deer
while my body slid into a rhythm. I tried to be silent.
‘The best runner leaves no trace.’
So I ebbed and flowed with the ground.
Courage crept upon me as I clung to a trunk.
down the hill
to the river with its boulders.
I looked up and saw the lean-to.
Who built it?
They sure did pick the spot!
Passing the trees I had already greeted
and the stones already felt underfoot
I remembered something I might have known since I was born
I’m frightened to learn.
If somebody hears me sing, then tell me I’m wrong, how will my courage endure the learn?
If I play cello for your orchestra, how will I ever face the audience?
If I run faster, will I run faster again?
How far can I go?
How far can I take this when fear goes on break?
Do not all the virtues branch from courage?