I sat in a meeting
wondering
what I might do
to get ahead.
Mount Kilimanjaro
could be climbed.
The mountain
doesn’t play favorites.
Politics
are
19,000 miles
from the summit—
snowy footsteps
blown away.
Writing stops, when we don’t feed it.
I went for a run
at night
and the cedar trees
rose up
into the dark.
It was crisp and cold.
The woods—a silhouette
against the moon.
My future
is
found
above the clouds
in that pale white orb.
Intellectual Shaman 
Running at night is magical. It feels like you can run faster and like something might be chasing you and all that exhilaration fills the lungs, heart, and soul most wonderfully!
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I agree, Ocean! A cold night in November, is best–with the fog, and leaves, hanging onto the trees.
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