Linda R. Quennec: Run

Spring '13 TOC


A hazy lake in morning, city-straddled with refuge seekers who walk dogs, push strollers, or the last few miles of movement left in aging bodies. My own, aching with coffee-addled nerves takes its place, fuses itself to the silent surge. I press my arm against a well-mossed tree for balance and lift one leg, catching a foot to stretch. The trunk is scattered with fungi, miniscule goblets striving to catch reluctant late summer rain. Smell of cedar and earth. Abiding warmth. Nothing has shifted yet.




Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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