I am running. The night is cold, and my sweat’s clinging to my clothes. My foot hits the pavement, and my calf cries out for rest as I will my leg to spring forward again. Again and again. The moon is dim upon the horizon, rising with that graceful elegance of something weightless, like a dancing bubble, its orange glow unlike anything in this world.
The shadows of distant hills rise darkly between the moon and me. Upon those wooded slopes, the plaintive howling of the lost is lost in forgotten echoes that man only knows as a whisper in the night. Ghosts of things not quite realized haunt our dreams in leu of our memories and consciences.
I know I am fleeing something, from a voice that’s come down from those tall shadows, but my heart longs for the light of that rising sphere. Heavenly beauty calls, but darkness rises between us, something I cannot name.
So I sweat down here on earth, running my circuits between quiet and sleeping homes, longing for answers to questions I dare not ask.
Tale Told 