Full Moon, Fresh Legs

Ahem, says the moon through the screen of the bathroom window,
As though she has just learned a new twirl and needs to show me immediately.
Still hazy-brained from sleep, I peer up and out and concede that yes, it’s a delightful new twirl, yes, Madame Full Moon does look particularly full and lustrous as the night sky brings its performance on home before the sun takes the stage, and yes, I’m glad I didn’t opt to sleep in.
Pleased with the attention, the moon trails me out the door, hovering alongside every step of my first run in a week.
“I need to tell you everything that happened while you were gone!” she trills, beaming.
I grunt, my muscles, bones, tendons, sinew readjusting to this movement.
Obliging, she slides behind some trees, but peeks right back out again.
Thump thump, go my feet.
In, goes my breath. Out.
“Seriously?” say my legs.
“Seriously,” I tell them. “The darkness is where we find our strength.”
“I’m still here,” says the moon, a little impatient.
I notice the quietness of the morning, the loveliness of a body in motion, the wonder of new beginnings.
I cast a smile upwards.
“Me too.”

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