Running through wildflowers

Ankles turn on dried mud, 

Sticking out at angles,

A once muddy reminder of 

the tread of deer and horses.

Overhead kites and hawks

hover and swoop.

I run, I run, I run. 

Grasses and nettles make

red rivers across my skin,

It’s hard to convey the mood

I am in. Ochre light through

trees make dappled markings. 

Greens flash by in every shade,

with purples and yellows and reds

and pinks and blues and hues of 

every colour taking turns to

catch peripheral vision. 

Daisies and poppies 

reflecting the morning sun.

I run, I run. 

I can hear my breath and

my beating heart, and my legs 

feel more like the trunks

of the passing trees

than like the wispy stalks of the 

flowers; and yet still I run. 

I run through it all

and I chase it all away.

And I am left with everything around me,

wildflowers on a sunny day.