freshly cut grass
glistens from the dew
and sweat.
Beneath the canopy of oaks and pines
dusty trails wind
back and forth,
down hill,
up hill. A ball of fire hovers
over the
steep, salmon, sand knolls.
A place where
the phrase “mile repeats”
is most dreaded.
“Full speed”
is not a convivial saying,
either.
A place where
shouting is an encouragement,
not a disappointment.
Stopwatches beep
after each interval.
Less is more.
A place where
water is precious-
the simple substance
always a satisfaction.
A taste so
unsullied and fresh,
it cleanses more than
just the throat.
A place where
sweat is a perfume,
a sign of accomplishment.
Tears taste sweet,
not bitter.
A place where
stretching is a
social gathering.
Stories mix up
and rumors spread
all too quickly.
A place where
bees buzz,
hornets horde,
and ants bite,
leaving ruby, swollen bumps.
A place where
friends meet,
laugh,
yell,
cry
like a family.
A second family
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