Spring
Every morning Otis and I drive to Saxon Woods and go for a run on the trails. The woods are hilly and the air has a real chill.
Thoughts come and go with the hills. What I refuse or don’t know how to deal with comes to me in disguise.
Our lives are the reckoning on our lives. But our lives are not our lives.
Thoughts come and go with the hills. What I refuse or don’t know how to deal with comes to me in disguise.
Our lives are the reckoning on our lives. But our lives are not our lives.
posted by Josh at 6:56 PM
1 Comments:
these thoughts of yours,
the ones that came and went.
do they travel in swirls through your woody hills...
to muse and return as understood disguise when you next come back for a run?
what then, dear runner, are the reckonings on our lives?
are they still not ours?
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