The world is not ours

The world is not ours - April 6, 2020

On my first morning run,
thoughts crowd my mind
and I do not remember
that I was sure I would die.
that I was sure I could not
make it to the end of the block,
when I started this run.
It's been several months,
since I last ran,
since the summer,
since school started.

I keep running and
keep thinking about
groceries and gloves,
masks and mail,
Clorox and cancellations
toilet paper and testing,
antibodies and absentee ballots,
online school and
the latest news on CNN.
I make it two miles.
I'm done running.

I walk to the forest,
by the river, where
gray squirrels scatter,
unseen birds call,
ducks float downstream
on gentle currents.
Four deer stroll nearby,
hidden in early spring's
brown template.
They regard me briefly
and continue on.
These fellow travelers
are unaware of
quarantines and respirators,
of the tragedy of
mounting human deaths
on planet earth.

I stand and breathe in,
I breathe in the river,
and the trees, and the
blue scilla carpeting
on the forest floor.
I breathe in a world
that is bigger than
the thoughts
crowding my mind.
I breathe in...
hope.