Running in the Early Morning Light

The god Apollo wreathed in light,
beckons me back to my tabernacle of clay each morning,
chuckling, he says to me, "Put on they running shoes,
glorious creation of mother earth."
I rub my eyes- my head still feels sleepy as I head out the door,
but my feet are faithful guides that know the way to the trails.

The moon is headed west on its journey-
Trees-the old wise ones, wait, meditating silently-
The brook mummers to itself, as it bumps and bubbles among the rocks-
Three small blackbirds balance themselves on the triangle shape of a sign,
they too are awaiting the ascension of Apollo's temple in the East.

My feet make soft sounds on the pavement.

Gigantic power-lines, hum, crackle and pop as I pass under them.
A fox hears my approach and turns its head to say hello-
It is too early for prairie dogs, they lie dreaming in their burrows.