The dense fog danced in the dawn
spilling from the lake to my left
ghosts escaping watery graves
wisps sliding slowly across
my favorite wooded running trail

A seven mile snake surrounds
almost flat all around
but two huge hills heat
burning lungs
keeping pace with an inner race

Looking into this mirrored lake
I sometimes spy clearing skies
or watch raindrops dancing
as ripples form to fill the void
Other runners erase footprints
left in this tan sand
just minutes or hours before
where I just ran

The wind at times whistles
as it talks to the trees
then wet leaves loosen the dew
now falling free
through wet forests
onto my sandy canvass

05/15/2007

Author's Note: A poem inspired by my favorite wooded trail run.

Posted on 05/15/2007
Copyright © 2026 Tony Whitaker