A Coastal Rain

Yesterday, I went on a 6 mile run along the beach. It rained the entire time, no one was out on the sidewalks, and the beach was empty except for ornery seagulls and seaweed shrapnel.

 

It was the first time in a while, where my shoulders relaxed, my breath deepened, and I was able to let go.
Let go of the grief of my brother
Let go of the heartbreak of failed relationships
Let go of the dumb laptop swap mistake
Let go of the pressure I put on myself
Let go of the fear of this journey
Let go of the fear of my death
Let go of the fear of the unknown

Instead, I focused on the running itself, the mechanics of my thighs as they pumped up & down like machine pistons, the softness of the sand as my feet sank with each staccato step.

 

I focused on the seagulls craning their irritated eyes over their speckled feathery shoulders, annoyed at being forced to scurry away.

 

I focused on the sound of the rain as it hit the sand, drops’ muted plunking, but louder & higher pitched falling together. There was no distinction of each drop, but I knew they were there. My face & thighs felt them, barely a second of recognition until they blended into rivers snaking across my skin.

 

It was good that it rained, because no one could see the tears snaking across my face.
Tears of gratitude
Tears of loss
Tears of memory
Tears of regret
Tears of fear
Tears of fear
Tears of fear

It took power to run on the sand, my hips were forced to work fully, swinging the pendulum of my thighbones higher & wider. Back on the sidewalk, they stayed on, driving in arced splendor, acquiescing to my mind’s commands.

 

My strides were long & graceful, like an antelope, my feet touching the ground like small kisses, or daisy petals, or wings of fallen dragonflies. It’s the fastest I’ve ever run. It’s the longest I’ve run in years.

 

Flying past the cars, the screechy trill of wet tires on pavement echoing in my ears, flying over the broken sidewalk slabs not tripping, thankfully not tripping. Flying past flowerpots, porch swings, shrubbery. Flying past blue uniformed mailmen conducting their daily duty.

 

But try as I might, I never left the ground.
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Other works of creative fiction by Marissa Krupa are available via her chapbook, titled: In the Present Moment Cost is $5 plus $2.50 shipping & handling via the Paypal button below:


 

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