I wore my new running shoes this morning. The temperature was in the mid-60's and the sun's light, low in the sky, was muted by thin clouds. This was good running weather for Central Florida, but I was the only one taking advantage of the cool-down. As I ran along Narcoosee Road, I still thought about running in Central Park. I loved to see the changing seasons in the leaves of the trees. Even at 6:00 AM on a chilling February morning, there were other runners in the Park to provide a measure of psychic companionship. I was always close to a moment of magic.
I arise in the chill pre-dawn to prepare for the ceremony
with footwear made for running and garments unadorned.
The Oracle at Delphi has foretold a time of celebration
in a great wooded area in the heart of the metropolis.
Saffron-draped gates lead from mundane to magical.
Greek drama and epic poems from school days come alive.
I am a hero, approaching the stadium under the saffron drapes
to be crowned with a laurel wreath for my valor and fortitude.
Months later, I stand guard over the heirs of Pheidippides,
holding back onlookers as the runners complete the final miles.
First are the elite women, fleet as gazelles; followed by the entire human family,
bound by their determination to cross the finish line and taste glory.