I open the front door and step outside
A cool mist hangs low on the lawn;
The world is silent.
All I can hear is the roar of the highway
A few miles off,
Like the world is just waking up.
Like the silence before a performance,
As the conductor raises his stick
And the orchestra tenses
And the audience is frozen in anticipation.

Then I start,
One foot in front of the other,
Forming a rhythm with my steps,
A melody that my breathing hums along to.
And I close my eyes for a moment to listen.
It’s like music.

I feel like I’m flying,
As gravity pulls me down the hill
And my legs follow underneath me.
The music picks up,
Bounces rapidly along to my stride.

Then the hill levels off
And my legs are snapped back to reality
As they pull me forward instead.
The music settles back into its calm symphony,
As my feet tread lightly over the surface
Of the pavement,
And my breathing slows.

I don’t understand people
Who listen to music while they jog.
They will never hear the music
Of a morning run.