Outside again, at last. My feet are eager to feel the ground, and my lungs to breathe the air. The wind is cold, but friendly, and there is a lot of air to breathe for me today. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, five.
I take off. The ground is still holding onto me, but judging by the way my heart flutters and the grin stretching across my face I might as well be running on air.
The trees are calling, and I can’t say no. I run to meet them. They smell so good I almost have to stop and kiss them, but the sound of water draws me on. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, five.
The waterfall is happy and loud. Not the startling train kind of loud, and not the tiring people kind of loud. Just the alive kind of loud, the summer kind of loud. The water sings in longing for the sea, in a tune so wild I have to sing along.
Some day I too will reach the sea. But not today. Today the land is holding firmly onto me. It is a safety, a comfort in the face of the noise my heart makes beside the waterfall.
My toes are wet, and with the cold water inside me now I have to keep moving. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, five.
Soon my hair is wearing a crown of fleeting diamonds. There are puddles over which to leap, and my feet delight in the chance to fly. In this land of the light that never dies there is a perpetual chance of rainbows, and I laugh until I cry when I realise that one is chasing me.
It tires way before I do, and as it fades back into nothing I thank it for its company. It is important to show your friends appreciation, regardless of the brevity of the acquaintance.
The sun is playing a game now where it paints golden patches on the moun- tainside through gaps in the clouds. My spine tingles as I realise that the mountain must feel exactly the same as I do when a butterfly lands on my head.
In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, five and I am at the place of death and memory. I find that someone who shared my name was laid to rest here a hundred years ago. My bones wonder where they will go when there is life in this flesh no more, and I sing to calm them down.
The dead might have heard me too, but the wind carries my words away out across the deep lake. The lake’s surface waves restlessly, and mirrors the sky’s indecisiveness in a mosaic from red to blue to grey.
My eyes are drawn across it, to the mountains beyond. Come, they call. My heart pounds as if to break free from its cage of ribs, longing to heed the call. Some day, I promise. But today is not the day.
My heart protests as I tear my eyes away, and drag it with me on suddenly reluctant feet. In, two, three, out, two, three, four. The way is steeper now, and my left ankle starts complaining. Before long my lungs join the chorus, and I grudgingly slow to a walk.
But my left knee is nice and strong and quiet, and before long I take off again. In tiny, tiny steps I make my way among the interesting rocks, de- lighting in the puzzle of my feet and their sometimes smooth, sometimes jagged nature.
In, two, out, two, three. I hear the sound of a stream up ahead and I know it can’t be far now. I’ve left the trees behind and the wind is fiercely forcing its way through me. But I make friends with the cold and push on.
Traces of animals are crossing the path. They whisper that one was here very recently, and point me in its direction. But I decline politely. Today is not a day for animals. I have my own path to follow.
It leads me further onwards, further upwards, and as the wind increases to a roar I know what I am looking for. One more cliff, a sprint in, two, out, two, three and then I find it: the little lake I lost last winter.
It was much better at hiding when it had a cover of snow. I laugh and lean against the wind, daring it to let me fall into the lake. It doesn’t, and I thank it.
The lake is bubblingly agitated as I reach the shore, and the waves play catch with my toes when I taste its water. The waves win with an icy slap, but I don’t fear the cold because I know I will soon be warm again.
A little house invites me into quiet and wood, and my body enjoys a snack and a rest. But before long my toes are growing restless, and in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, five I am off again. Looking back only once to kiss the lake goodbye, for now.
Looking right, there’s a peak silently emerging from a cloud. It still wears the black and white colours of winter. I wonder if it will ever don the summery green and brown.
The peak looms proudly, thinking it will last forever. But although it is very permanent compared with me in my current shape, it will be the first to go compared with the rest of the mountain. It doesn’t realise this, even as a cloud wraps itself around it, hiding it from view again.
I don’t say anything. It would be rude, and what use would a mountain have for humility, anyway?
I turn away, and carry on two, three, four, out, two, three, four, five towards the perpetually smiling valley. Come, it calls. Soon, I promise. But not today. Today I am heading home.
Home, exactly where I need to be. The place where pieces of me keep falling into place. Which lets me stray to my heart’s delight but which always calls me back.
I can see it coming up ahead in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, five and my feet are loving every step they take.
Love and running,
Winterdragon
