Tentatively, I glanced over my shoulder, breathing hard while rocky soil crunched beneath my running shoes. I scanned the root-laden path behind me, unrecognizable from this direction, and panned around to the sunlit clearing ahead where the path I was following began to fade out.
With black spots creeping into my vision and the ache of a furious pulse heavy in my temples, my run faded into a jog. I nearly tripped from the change in pace, and the shot of adrenaline from catching myself snapped me out of the exhausted daze the rhythm of my footsteps had lulled me into.
My stride shortened, and I slowed further, jogging carefully into the clearing and scanning the overgrown ground for where to pick up the path. My hands found my hips, and I let myself cave forward slightly, smothering the screams cramping beneath my ribcage. And for the first time in years, I stopped running.
As I straightened, a soft, cool breeze rushed past my face. A breeze, not made by the burning muscles in my calves pushing me forward against the air, but by a gust of crisp, pine-scented wind flowing towards me. Feeling my heartrate slow, I fought the urge to start running again, to retrace the path that had brought me here until I found a familiar route.
Between heavy gasps for breath, my feet rooted firmly in place, I tried to find the direction of the wind which seemed to pour endlessly from everywhere. I listened to the breeze and heard a wild laughter that had not been there before. The air cooled the red-flushed skin on my arms and reassured me I would never have to run or gasp or burn again to feel the wind on my face.
Wrapped in relief, the whole sky washed over me, while all I did was stand, and breathe.
PLUTO BLOOMING 