I get up before dawn
in darkness, my body wanting
to stay in bed, warm and quiet
beside her.
I reach for my phone and tiptoe
from the room and down the stairs
searching for some pants and a shirt
and some old, dirty socks.
The shoes are waiting from yesterday.
I start out the door
but think again and reach for an old black
sweater that assures me of comfort and warmth.
The trolley track trail leads away from me out
into darkness illuminated only by the nearly-full moon
and a few electric lights that punctuate a spot but
only serve to deepen the shadows around it.
I walk my walk.
Crunch, crunch
on the hard surface of gravel;
few sounds except mine.
At times a runner passes me going one way or the other;
single, solitary souls running to or away from something
or someone; maybe themselves.
It's quiet on this trail inside this big city
on this little road through these trees and houses and across
roads that lead somewhere else.
And then I hear them;
feel them actually
coming from behind pushing some sort of force out in front.
I hear their rhythm of their steps as they approach me
threatening to over-take me.
Will they push me off the trail?
Will I be an old man in their way?
Will I slow them down?
And then they are on me
as they flow around me
in a flow of glistening naked shoulders
arms pumping the air;
their nearly naked bodies in rhythm
without missing a beat
nearly quiet with only the sound
of a leading yearling
bringing the rear ones along
heading down the trail.
The young elk of the Trolley Track Trail.
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