Nobody's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Sunday, December 11, 2011

The distance events are near the end of the meet.
Long after the rest have gone,
I stay to watch you run.

The sound of you in you being,
close sphere of purpose:
every breath
a prayer in and out of you,
every stride
a promise lifting you.
"It is simple," you say,
"It is not a race."

Movement as medicine,
intimate interaction with environment.

lighten up."

That I might close my eyes and know everything. . .

you go airborne

I see you
outside time