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The Perfect Race

Our feet are in the grass,
The sun beating down on our head
And the breeze grabbing at our hair.
The soft ground cushioning our soles
Like our favorite Ugg boots, as we dash across the
field on the warm summer day.
The giddy screams we let loose
Like little school girls,
Racing for the lead spot.
Feeling free, while we push ourselves,
To the limit, going as fast as we
Can possibly go.
Jumping over the holes
In the dirt
And trying not to step on rocks.
Hearing the distant yelling of
The kids playing jump rope
Far away on the blacktop.
Listening to the conversations,
Of the birds, with their soft calls
To one another from the top of the trees
Like John Mayer’s sweet music.
The whip of our Nike shorts,
Against our legs,
Creating a sting against our bare skin.
The quiet swish of the grass,
Like a basketball entering the hoop
From a perfect shot.
Our Pumas whistling
Through the grass
Pushing us forward, faster and faster.
Our feet rolling of the ground
Feeling as our soles touch
The earth beneath us
Feeling like we are in another world.
The stretch of land in front
Calling to us, beckoning us forward
The crisp air,
The fluffy clouds
And the perfect race.





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