Behind him. The early morning work traffic. The suburban homes. The parking lot where he’d parked his car, his work clothes folded up into a gym gab. His cell phone and his wallet. Telephone poles one, two, three. Behind him. Jared slowed down as he came up on an intersection and paused, jogging in place, until there was a gap in busy traffic. Then he ran on.

The sun was bright, captured in the drops of sweat running down his brow and bare body. With each breath, he drug in the smells of fresh pine, blooming flowers, and cut grass. He left behind the stop sign, the busy grocery stores and brooding office buildings. The fenced in pastureland, and the herds of cows grazing. The city limit was ahead and he ran toward it, feet pounding faster. Soon, he’d left that behind too.

His breath labored. The hills outside the city were steep and covered in dark, swaying trees. The blood pounding through his head was like white water, and too strong to resist. Had he left his keys in the car? He couldn’t remember. He pushed his legs, lengthening his stride. The pine forests gave way on his right to a silver green meadow, hidden from the sun by the swelling earth. He broke from the road, dipping through the ditch, and ran across the grass, leaves darting in his wake. Drops of dew, collected in the morning shade, washed his shoes and calves. Cresting the hill, he rose into the dawning sun, and stopped, chest heaving, to stare at the morning sky.

Soon, he was off again, bounding down the side of the hill along the tree line. Ahead, a field of yellow wildflowers, waste deep, gloried in the sunshine. Honey bees, humming birds, and butterflies floated in the golden light, drifting from flower to flower. As he ran, he spread out his arms and ran his hands through the petals, beating pollen into the air, and coating his sweating body with it.

When he stopped in the middle of the field, he held his arms up in the air, and watched the particulate pollen float past him on the breeze. Covered in golden grains and drenched with sweat, he felt clean.

What I want and what I need

Are not necessarily the same

I want the peace of a quiet mind

And a becalmed soul

But where then life? Where then

Adventure and romance?


Therefore, do not wrap me in comforting arms

Or speak to me with soothing words

But drive me with whips

Flog me with the scourge

And chase me from all my safe places

With a goad, sharp and terrifying


I will not spend my life hiding

In the safety of warmth and friendship

The good things in life are fears

Terrors, hauntings, and hurts

Good things are guarded by dragons

Terrible and fierce


If we want them we must fight for them

If we want them we must hurt

About this blog

You should look at the first post.

But if I must sum up? This blog is for the joy of writing.