Why do I love the trail?

My feet falling upon the rocky earth, searching for the white hot blaze that leads to bliss.

I walk the wooded miles, up down all around, the stress washing off,

Each drop of sweat a needed  dose of nothing. Asking for nothing, telling nothing. The silence of the wind as it washes over me.

Why do I love the trail?

The crunch, crunch, crunch of my boots,  one step after the other, guiding me to serenity. Each narrow path, shrouded by oddly shaped green leaves, pine needles and a fine dust being kicked up as I weave in and out of tree roots, exposed by time and the seasons.

Why do I love the trail?

The smell of the woods, snow covered rocks and the cool streams running high after springs wrath. The rain falling through the trees, head raised, collecting each precious drop.

Why do I love the trail?

Because  I can.