WINTER RUN

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The alarm tried to hold me in the warmth of bed, but the world outside whispered otherwise. Through the blinds, I saw the trails brushed with pearly snow, as if dawn had embroidered them in lace. The cold waited for me—sharp, honest, inviting. I stepped into it quietly, not wanting to disturb winter’s fragile silence.

My breath rose in small clouds as I began to run, my legs stiff, my body reluctant. Soon rhythm found me: footfalls, breath, and snow. Narcy an animal crossed my path, only their tracks—silent signatures of life moving before me. The woods felt ancient, emptied of noise, filled instead with presence.

Snow drifted down, turning the world into a trembling globe of white. Time and distance became meaningless, and I imagined that the woods looked as it once did 100 years ago. I gazed into the distance; and for a moment, I thought I saw Henry David Thoreau standing outside his cabin near Walden Pond reminding me that solitude is its own kind of grace.

Here, in this quiet, I meet myself again. Here, the world falls away, and something truer rises.
snow-soft hush~
my breath and God’s breath
moving as one

the related personal narrative can be read at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/season_to_season_13582

12th grademeaningfulwinterhaibun

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