Running in the Texas Hill Country

by Katherine Hoerth

I reach the top of yet another hill,

my heart a blazing star inside my chest.

Over my head, a heavy slate cloud hangs

about to burst into a gentle drizzle,

let loose another dalliance of rain.

Down below, the vista blushes green–

the wild rye in bloom, the farmland pocked

with flashes of pastels, the endless pasture

where goats graze languidly as if the world

eternally stood still. I gaze ahead–

a tractor rusts, returning to the earth

between two amaranthine cypress trees.

Today, the only hurry is my own.

My eyes, two open primrose blossoms, drink

the sun, the wind, the season as I run.

I make my way downhill as gravity

tugs at my ankles. Thunder rolls as raindrops

fall onto my skin, the cool reprieve

ephemeral as sunrays beam through clouds.

My face blooms red again like all the firewheels

that surround me as I pick up speed.

I lose my breathe to all this loveliness,

take it in before it disappears.

Come June, the color drains from every flower.

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