late afternoon run, October 25

I am more than this jumbling of scattered thought
more than the fresh cool breeze on my skin
more than this unnamable longing for something other,
more than what I see
when the last rays of bright sun light just the tops of the trees on the far hill—
Oh, surely God knew what he was doing to my heart when he made trees!

I am more than the contents of my skin
wonderful and mysterious though they are.
the sweet complexities of anatomy; the simple reality of lifting one foot after other as I jog down the gravel road, heart pumping, breath rhythmic, muscles flex-release,
flex-release flex-release
the signals from my brain coming so fast that I cannot even think of them,
cells and synapses and nerve endings and endless waves of neurotransmitters;
the way red blood cells work; the way my skin transfers heat.

That is wondrous.

As is the sound my feet make through the fallen leaves—
crunch crunch shush shush crunch shush swoosh crunch

I am more than this jumbling of scattered thought.