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At Night I Run With Wolves

By Kate Herbert-Smith

My hair whips out behind me like a golden flame licking my back and arms. My hands and feet pound the earth, churning it up as I run full tilt on all fours. The trees sail past and my face stings from the cold. I don't care. Every muscle in my body is singing with a silent poetry all of its own. I feel strong. I feel free. I make a hard left digging my knuckles into the soil and skidding. I giggle to myself and push ahead. I can see with a thousand eyes, like the night sky with its thousand stars. My every heartbeat punctuates the hum of nature, creating a rhythm that is me. There are others. They make me strong. They, like me, are running hard, running free. I feel them around me. A pack. Our heartbeats combine building a symphony. We are alive. I wake with a jolt at the sound of my alarm. I pull back the covers and make my way naked towards the bathroom, a trail of soil in my wake. At night I run with wolves.

Pia wiggled the big toe on her left foot and the crown of dew slipped off. She signed grumpily, lifted her head and scanned the horizon shielding her eyes from the bright early morning sun. Julia was always late and it bugged her, where was she? The car park at Brighton Marina was already filling up with tables of treasures that she was just itching to start rummaging through. Pia loved boot sales, the early morning rise, the 70's and 80's music blaring from the radio, the smell of bacon frying and of course the hundreds of items for sale - lamps with a tale to tell, boxes of books and black and white photos, once loved but for whatever reason now discarded.  Pia signed again and stood up impatiently, the change in her pocket jangling. A rustling sound from next to her made her turn and for a split second she thought she saw a wolf. Then Bam! Everything went black....tbc


This page was amended on 09/04/2014
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