Acorns Overhead

Brisk morning northwest breeze, sun rising in a clear blue southeast sky,

I run straight up a hill, straight into the sun,

Acorns under my feet, acorns overhead,

Light touches the branch tips on tree tops and prairie grasses on hill tops,

I listen to the trees and the sky,

They are always kind and gentle,

Then I run under red cedars and past wild plum thickets,

Up another hill by a pond where geese sit upon it

I see a last leaf falling, my breathing is deep,

And I realize I feel alive