Arms swing,
Muscles strain,
Tendons stretch,
Ankles roll,
feet pound a steady beat upon worn paths.
An expanse of dusty earth rolled out before you
beckoning to your wand'ring feet
with the promise of a world
with no rules or boundaries
no fences to enclose you in
A world of rolling hills
and rocky cliffs,
of flat plains
and sandy beaches,
of vivid forests
and swift creeks,
of trails long-forgotten,
now just remembered
by those who answer the call.

A primordial instinct
coming back to even the most modern of us.
If you listen,
if you want it to find you, it will.
You will hear it.


The Trail.
A world where
only you can claim victory
only you can pick yourself up should you fall
only you can make it happen,
only you can determine who you are.
They say hardship builds character.
Running the path builds character.
It's where the strong are cut away from the weak,
the tough stand out among the meek,
where true heroes make their mighty mark,
no one to count on,
but their heart,
and lungs,
and legs.

But the trail will be there,
it will wait patiently,
for those brave enough to come,
those wise enough to heed the call.
It will wait for the pattern of feet,
the sound of heavy breathing,
the rhythmic churn of steady legs
to bring it to life
in the minds of the dedicated.
It will wait.

For it has nothing else to do.
It is only a trail.