I go for a run to clear my head.

The steep hills of the city trail leave me feeling alive–the skyline of mountains a familiar refuge.

My blood pulses through my limbs, pushing me to a discomfort I fully embrace.

The physical challenge is the only thing that quiets the voices in my head holding tight to frustration and confusion.

I crave the sweet sense of clarity that replaces the unknown.

The run works to ground me–forcing me to connect to my breath. It is all that is real.

At the close of fall, the cold and darkness hint towards the coming winter. There is death in winter. A final dying away of all that was.

I wonder if my final breath will take place during a winter?

At the close of fall, I go for a run and hope I will survive one more winter.