The mid-July morning broke clear; warm and golden. The country roads; flanked by trees; shrubs and farmers’ fields; were still and quiet. Only two noises broke the early morning silence - the rhythmic sound of a young woman’s sneakers pounding the pavement; and the quiet melody of deep; regular breathing. My feet. My breath. My companions since 4:00 that morning when I had strapped on my shoes and headed into the darkness.
Glow Tracts
