Mercury Morris
Today my legs had wings. Not when the alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. and filled my foggy head with screeching sounds announcing the day had begun.
Today my legs had wings. Not when my body slipped from the entrapping warmth and comfort of three layers of blankets only to hit the cold wooden floor that nearly sent me scrambling back under those same covers.
Today my legs had wings. Not when the disappointment of yesterday’s failed challenges pushed aside the fog in my head and caused my soul to cringe at the expectations glaring at me through the morning light.
Today my legs had wings. Not when the radio began telling of this bombing and that act of hate for then my legs felt paralyzed with hopelessness.
Today my legs had wings. Not when I limped toward the coffee maker to kick start hope with caffeine. No not even when I put on shorts and began lacing my Nike’s and thinking of the road outside.
Today my legs had wings. No, not even as they made their way down the driveway and began to move in rhythm through the cold morning. But something began to happen.
Today my legs had wings. First they asked, “Why do this thing?”
Today my legs had wings. My feet beat a song on the pavement to answer and my blood began to pump through my legs, to my waist, to my arms, to my head, to my soul.
Today my legs had wings. And my soul began to warm more than the covers and to soar above the cold wooden floor, leaving behind the previous days failed challenges, reaching heights that let me see above today’s obstacles.
Today my legs had wings. And the aches and pains of age and soreness fell behind and the song my body sang wove a warm feeling of enchantment through my mind. And I could do anything.
Today my legs had wings. And I felt the meaning of life and I knew my purpose and I could have run forever, without effort and without regret. And for a moment time was suspended and I flew.
Today my legs had wings. But those wings seemed to fade away as I returned to my driveway and began to walk toward my door. I was still high enough to see far into the future.
Today my legs had wings. And those wings faded to soothing memory as the water from the shower pulsated over my naked body.
Today my legs had wings. Not as I eased my body into my car and began the hectic drive to work.
Today my legs had wings. Not as the phones rang and the noise of life pushed the memories of the morning’s special moments from my mind.
Today my legs had wings. Not as the roar of life filled my head with regret and disappointment; not as the sun set with so much undone and body and soul so tired.
Tonight I sleep. And as I drift off, I pray that for some time tomorrow my legs will have wings again. And you ask me why I run?