By Lorna Ye
When the land is wrapped
in the gray of early dawn,
the runner starts off on the tight earth.
Her lonely figure forms the only motion
within the stillness.
Her rhythmic steps echo in the hollow,
like throbs of a drum
dancing in the hushed cold air.
The winding road stretches with crooked angles,
twisting between wild hedgerows.
Humid chill is tinged with the smell
of damp dirt and grass.
The runner’s eyes stare into the distance,
twinkling with expectant rapture.
An untamed tendril slips loose from her pony tail,
clinging around her moist face.
The deserted road thrums beneath her,
sounding heavier and heavier.
A gust of wind swishes her face;
twitches and soreness jab her.
Mustering courage and strengths,
she kept on running,
her head high,
her steps charged with spirit.
The first ray of sunshine,
glittering from the horizon,
casts a soft glow on her ruddy face.
A flush of joy mounts to her cheeks
covered with a sheen of sweat.
The serene rills in her heart
turn into zealous torrents
vibrating to the distant mountains and the brightening sky.
© 2019, Lorna Ye. All Rights Reserved