The Run

The cold, dead air softens the blow of what would be my pounding heart, as I climb to summit the icey beast of Renfrew park. 

That thing, my heart. 

Wanting out of the cage. Like Dar and I. Out and alive.

It’s my space now,

And with Darwin keeping pace, we truck 3 laps against the frosty December morning. I feel invincible.

Victorious in a sense that we were out there.


This is the run. 


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