We’re running unrushed on twigs and green seeds from the hail storm last night. Three pair of shoes crunch and crackle on the pavement, almost in unison. Both my companions have qualified for Boston. One seldom mentions it. The other finds an eyelet in every conversation in which to lace it. But for now we’re here in Madison —three pair of shoes sidestepping a patch of gravel, smashing the first dandelions. To the planet in an anthill, it’s sad how much damage one shoe can do.
Copyright 2010 by Brian Dean Powers