Morning Rest

Morning Rest

I awake in the morning, seven and a half hours after I got there.
Sleep takes her time releasing me from her grasp.
I am routine until I panic, somewhere during my coffee,
As usual, but earlier today. Perhaps that is routine.
Uncomforted, I go for my jog with my dog.
And we run in the grass and on the dirt,
Under trees and in the sun.
And I think about running and nature and my dog,
And…
There is a cliched broken record that is my mind.
Alphabet soup crazy making.
Will a child born today know alphabet soup or records?
I will my hot mind to stop,
It is melting my soul.
But it woodpecks a pinhole in my temporary barracade,
It says, “You cleverly disguise work as pleasure, these days.”
Do I?
Perhaps. Unnecessarily, maybe. But…
What kind of life is one running a race against time?
Time is not it, it is just you and this imaginary foe,
Headed for the finish line.
Relax.
This is why I run, because I will actually listen.
The thoughts fade like a stormy rainbow.
I feel the dirt under my feet and hop over a tree root.
My dog is trotting beside me, looking purposeful.
I run.
As soon as I am done, walking to the front door,
I realize, I finally feel rested.