Salt and Pepper

Cold air, the morning I walked out of the house. Maple trees in red and yellow, white church rooftop, red bricks. I run my usual four miles, the ground beneath my feet flying under my calves, the cold filling my lungs as I get into my rhythm. Birds rustling in the shrubs. How come your presence makes me ask what am I doing here anyway. I run to keep the pain at bay, to make me feel myself again. A morning flight. I love my muscles to carry me. Don't you return to where the wind is always warm? Whereas I will keep on running, deeply enjoying the cold ocean and the wind. It makes me feel tough and closer to the elements. You'd evade me anyhow if I wanted to show you any of this.