In the oral tradition of the distance world

The story of the taper is commonly told

"Beware the drop, it'll drive you nuts

You'll bounce off the walls, chomp at the bit"

I think I remember that youthful feeling

But now it's more, like Harold's red light

We used to dread that pedestrian stop

And jog in place or pace the street

Impatience has left, replaced by longing

For the serendipitous change

That grants us the rest

We savor like wine

So here we are, in the final week

I head out for a short, inconsequential run

My feet roll under me, surprisingly easy

Meeting the beat of Marley and Mayer

A gentle rain raises the scent

of fresh cut grass and something distant

laced with vanilla and cinnamon spice

I feel the rhythm in my pace

Round the corner and see the Sound

Drips fall from my brim, shirt sticks to my chest

Moving through space is effort less

I feel like,    I could run forever

Ready

No not

Here we come