These Legs in Creative Writing

Written Last Spring, but I came across it again today.

These legs, they take me take me to new places.
They take me to old places to look through with new eyes.
Old places to look at through old eyes, to relive with wonder, again and again.

Today, the Spring desert suns falls down on me, as I run along the sandy path. Red. The sand is red. And the rocks. Them too. It’s a new place today. It’s a new place in a new season. The smell. Pine pitch and sage and yarrow. It’s the smell of a dessert being reborn. It’s not hot – not yet- but I push myself up the hill and sweat beads roll down my face. Paths weave along the hillside and even in this small pocket of wilderness I feel the endless possibilities of exploration. I could rune forever like this, high on exploration and adventure. High on skin slick with sweat, gleaning in the sun. High on sweet scents and dusty winding paths.

It’s not always like this. Sometimes I am high on ancient cedar and thick carpets of moss, when raindrops drip from a distant canopy rinsing the sweat from my hair rolling down the back of my neck. Other times I am high on hoar frost clinging to my eyelashes as I inhale the sharp winter air and listen to the solitude of an ice covered land. Or I am high on the splashing of feet in spring puddles, and the moment of silence as I leap over a log. I get high yet again when my feet sink into the wet sand as I chase waves and run with the wind, salt and seaweed singing the story of a powerful realm beyond the ground I run on.

These legs of mine, they keep moving. Through sunrises over ancient monuments and middays though an aspen grove, where the dappled light and dancing leaves give secrets of a secret world. They carry me through evenings as the sun sets over still wetlands where red winged blackbirds bid world goodnight and moose glance dozily in my direction. They carry me through nights, up mountains on old forestry roads, letting my feet guide the way as I surrender to the darkness.

These legs of mine, they keep moving, carrying me through this world without complaint so I can look around in awe and breathe in the sweet scents of nature and history and humanity all rolled into one. They show me all that is good and help me forgive all that is bad. With them I am free. Free wear myself down until I am just me. Running. Wild. Free.

Last updated March 18, 2015