The Jogger

Beat for beat, a percussionistically entrancing phenomenon battling for attention beneath the soft music pouring through my cheap earbuds. Pounding against a cement surface, taunting the sidewalk to collapse and simultaneously spurning my own desire to collapse upon it, I urge my weakened state of being onward. Fatigue sets in where dreariness once prevailed, and the darkness of an early morning ominously veils vision's sense of direction. I can see my heart pumping beneath my chest, sending ripples of sweat across my naked torso.

Moon shadows from trees and stationary vehicles grope outwards like dying, immoral souls. I numbly continue past, unaware of the metaphysical experience that drives my anxiety towards a fence no measure of outward courage could hurdle.

I can feel my bones begin to sweat. Stars are fading away with every step I drive into the aging sidewalk, twinkling faintly behind the grandeur of our pockmarked moon. Drips of sweat bombard the receeding shadows as a cascade of yellows, oranges, pinks, and reds peek shyly over a distant mountain range. I reach the end of my rural neighborhood and continue onwards into a tangled patch of knotted forest.

A subtle path from previous adventures bends gently through, and often times I have found myself deviate from it; deciding instead to dodge and hurdle nature's best. Roots lace the shadows, and only fractured beams of light creep past the outstretched canopy. Padding onward, tripping, falling, always getting back to my feet; constant movement spanning a three hundred and sixty degree spectrum. No pattern of motion is evident, and I lose myself in the beauty of spontaneity.

More light. The forest begins to thin out. Branches are no longer a constant obstacle and subsequently fewer roots are grasping at my heels. Pace almost seems to come freely, willingly, and at last I can see where the tree line opens upon a golden lit meadow.

As I catch my breath in the shade of a thick oak, I gaze across the openess before me. The heat of early afternoon hospitably inviting me to bask and tan in the glorious solitude it offers.

I change the song.

Still my heart is pounding, thundering behind fully satiated lungs. One step forward is all it would take. Sunlight asking for one last step. The tall grass sways to a gentle breeze, a hint of warmth gently kissing my naked and scarred expression. It finds me at the precipice, and the sun continues to rise. I glance down at my hundred dollar running shoes that "breath." The meadow whispers, and blades of grass still carrying their dew glint like hidden diamonds; tiny yet beautiful temptations offering their perpetual daily renewal.

I take a step forward, allowing the warm breeze and grass to whisk away my morning's trial, satisfied with the finality discovered in stepping out from the cool comfort of familiarity.



Short story by Phill
Read 771 times
Written on 2011-07-15 at 10:07

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Quite a breathtaking experience.
2011-07-16