• Running:
    I'm running.
    I love it.

    I love to feel the wind of my own speed
    blowing against me,
    pulling me back as I fight it.
    It whips my hair back in vain.

    I love to hear the wind of my own speed
    whistle past me,
    angry that I am winning.

    My feet fly lightly over the ground.
    I look up, ahead, and out,
    and am content.

    Blue skies,
    white, fat, puffy clouds,
    racing 'cross the sky.
    Green grass,
    rolling gently ahead,
    flashing under my feet.

    Warm sunlight.
    I lose myself in it.

    I'm not tired,
    I feel as though I could run,
    could fly,
    in this beauty,
    this calm, forever.