Running
With tight lungs, and shortness of breath,
The earth races beneath me, and pebbles are overturned,
As the sun shines above, and the wind rushes past.
I smile and laugh, and in my freedom I revel,
As my feet become sore, and my legs start to tremble,
So I reach up to touch the sky, and stumble.
Then I turn about and rush back home,
thinking of the birds that fly through the air,
And animals that can speed across the ground.
The earth races beneath me, and pebbles are overturned,
As the sun shines above, and the wind rushes past.
I smile and laugh, and in my freedom I revel,
As my feet become sore, and my legs start to tremble,
So I reach up to touch the sky, and stumble.
Then I turn about and rush back home,
thinking of the birds that fly through the air,
And animals that can speed across the ground.
Running is like music, capable of infinite varieties of mood. We can run in zestful joy, or in somber meditation. Running can be about freedom of movement in contact with Nature; or it can be about the discipline and willpower of competitive effort on a road or track. It can give the rich companionship of running with friends, or the equally rich solitude of running alone. It is a significant part of the lives of millions of people worldwide. Surely it deserves a literature to express and celebrate these different moods and meanings.
No comments:
Post a Comment