Run, January 11th 2009

I didn't even know what to make of the sunset

All bubble gum pink, pastel blue, covered in the palest gray wool.

It would have felt like a sugary-sweet nursery tale if not for the 

Aggressive shocks of verdant moss and the blood-crimson berries.

The odd song of the gulls kept me company 

As I ran through the park of naked trees, 

Each surrounded by the brittle brown aura of

Leaves long fallen.

The crows with their guttural gossip followed me

Past the melancholy of decaying tombstones

Thick moss, deep mud, punctuated by 

The occasional silk rose.

The dropping temperature invaded my throat

With its icy breath replacing my own

The rain stood in for sweat and 

My only defense was to just keep running.