Sky

muscled thighs

churn muddy strides

up a steep hill

then another

one more

then

sky

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This life

Sometimes a dream dies. Something you may have held on to, believed possible for as long as you have memory. Age may decrease this distance. I wonder if this is an act of kindness.

Our body’s seem to pitch in too. Our vision fogs, a tender erasure of the imperfections of aging — everyone still looks wonderful.

What an experience this life.