the run

I didn't intend to go outside
but something in the wires was disconnected
and so there I found myself
beating that path
I knew so well.
(Like driving to the grocery store
and suddenly arriving
and not remembering the drive.)
That's how my morning was.
Down and up the hill
over and over.
how many times, I never count.
that's the beauty of the path;
it never tells you to stop
or when to stop
or how many feet you should travel before you're done.
your body will know

and for a moment, down that first hill
I could smell cigarette smoke
and I wondered
who needs nicotine at 5am
but here I am
needing this;
this motion, this power
at 5am.

and then the scent.
quickly it came and went
and I can't remember it now
but at that moment;
that second in time
it was there
a scent from my past
a flower
or bush
or fresh cut dandelions
or something so familiar
it made me want to be little again
and then it was gone
and I was back on the path

and so that middle alley,
the one that's so hard to ascend
was in front of me, but not.
it was like a distant voice told me
there is no end, nor will there ever be
and that made me pound even harder up that hill
making the end closer to my mind.
and there were those apple things in my path
and I had to dodge them, like an obstacle course with tires
and it just felt right.
that test.
A test

The Test.

No one put those apple things there.
no one but gravity
and he stopped talking to me
the last time
I fell out of the sky.