A Run

     The brittle leaves crunched beneath my pounding feet, each stride delivering a symphony of the forest. I ran through the trees, puffs of dirt flying up from my heels like clouds without rain. The scent of fall stripped my senses raw, leaving bare the earthy aroma of pine needles and sticky sap running down the rugged trunks of ancient trees and flimsy saplings, bent and drooping like a flower that is tired and wilting. 

     And I ran. 

     Icy wind ripped around my shoulders and whipped my hair back away from my face. Tears streamed from my eyes in an endless flow of self pity mingling with the twinges of guilt. And still I ran. I ran faster, harder than before, begging for speed. The world crashed into me. A menacing root jutted from the ground angrily where my feet had betrayed me. Bright crimson ran down my knees, canvases meant to remain blank, unpainted. I ignored the ache from the fall and began to run again, shaky at first but determined. 

     And I ran. 

     I ran across the dying grasses and the withering weeds. I ran across the dirt caked pebbles and over rock strewn trails. I ran through streams where water trickled in hazy, lazy paths and through rushing torrents, beating against my legs. I ran to the precipice of mountains and over rolling hills, across stark landscapes barren of life and through forests packed with jagged thorns. I knew I would fall again, but I also knew I would get up. I lifted my face to the brilliant sun.

     And I ran.