Moving, hurrying, getting somewhere. I am a bird gliding high above, crisscrossing the runner's path. After straying far ahead I double back, dive down and dart pass the man. His face transfixed, arms swinging wildly under striding legs. I circle above the human projectile and our motions lock in tandem.
Legs alternate each lunging step with machine-like continuity, rotating like a windmill.
The arms swing back and forth maintaining balance. I descend again and glide past the man. The limbs are a mayhem of movement but the head is locked forward, bounding only to the runner's inertia. The eyes stare straight ahead, unblinking, possessed, fixed on a destiny imagined or real. The open mouth is seemingly breathless.