There’s a film of purple
clouds looming overhead. From somewhere behind those dismal sky-bound sheets,
the sun offers little light and even less of its warmth. I might believe that
it’s a late Colorado evening. But I’m not a climatologist, and the analog
digits of my watch speak to that fact, indicating that it is only midday.
Below my rhythmic running shoes, the black tar concrete
sits beneath a layer of rain. The way the puddles have gathered upon the ground
gives heed to the uneven contours of the concrete. Uneven like the pattern of
breathing that fills up, and so readily escapes the trappings of my lungs.
Uneven is the sweat that drips from either brow on my forehead as I sweep it
onto my finger and flick it gone only to realize that only dewy drops of rain
could be so cold. It becomes a motif –unevenness—as I hurdle puddles to avoid
soggy socks.
Side-aches
hardly come in pairs and rocks are often lodged into the bottom of one of your
shoes. Yet, we run through unevenness because there is always a remedy. For
every aching side, you have an equally strong side to help you will away pain.
---