August 9, 2017

An early morning run

along a familiar trail.

The air is cool for August.

The Olentangy crawls along

beside me.

There’s a fog over the water,

the river in another state,

hovering over itself,

contemplating its own possibility

to float,

change,

vacate the predictable flow,

disappear and appear

elsewhere.

The planet turns slowly and already

the sun is claiming the air.

The river remains,

in itself,

and follows its course.

My breath becomes mist in front of me

and I move through it,

along this path

that leads toward home.

Joel