Try Running

Foot drums on
hard black tar
up and down
hills next to
stands
of Ash trees, by
Maples, looking
sideways across a
dropped marsh and
a blue sky with
puffed up clouds. Keep
breathing and
slow, to see deer
flashing white tails
at the marsh edge
and, as the herd
takes off, look at
the crow,
wings beating,
cawing, perhaps to the
dog, pacing the
boundary of a green
lawn backyard. Retreat
into mind solving
problems and
escape, seeing
the white Egret's
bent stillness on
the edge of open
water and
the red eyed
Blue Heron,
curiously
near, while Mallards
drift across
the small lake
you are passing and
climbing the hill,
two old
women talking
in Russian, you
think. They don't
look at you
but you make
a story
about them, being
sisters who share
a problem with
a child
and mind, internal,
takes you to another
part of the lake
with smooth water
and the fishing spot is
empty. Your feet echo,
slurred music under
the bridge
and a swallow
flies up so you see
the nest and
you turn around.