There are many miles to go.
A quiet dawn.
Like a cozy black hole or a welcoming void.
A little melancholy in the cold air.
The sun is just about to rise.
Birds, chirping and stirring near their nests.
And rustling leaves on branches on trees.
Soft pounding on the wet pavement with its first guest
a little nostalgic melody is composed.
But one day, the miles will be shorter.
And, one day you’ll get wings.
But until then, you just run.
it feels good.