I run at the speed of color.
Fast enough all I hear is the swish of my breathing, the pad pad of my shoes on pavement too hot to stand on.
The gold of the tall grasses reaches far above all squatting shrubs
crouched green with lime tips not to be overlooked.
Rocks clothed in rust and bright green line the walls of my canyon
my quiet running place.
Weeds line this trail of mine, in purple and green.
The sky, dark and grey threatens rain..
Juniper reach their old arms to their maker in the darkest green I've seen-
the earth below tan and dry.
My running partner jets back and forth digging in the dirt with his black nose
a black streak he is.
A quiet, glad streak I am.