Running Around the Lake

Around the lake — about 8km.

A loop I trace several times a week,
like following the outline of something familiar from home.

Somewhere along the way, running stopped being “exercise.”
It also stopped being just a habit.

In hours that are neither morning nor evening,
breath begins to take shape quietly on its own.

Swans cut across the water,
ducks leave small ripples behind,
and in the distance, cows slowly chew the grass.

Only human speed feels slightly out of place.

My husband and I run in opposite directions,
crossing paths somewhere around the lake.

Very few words are exchanged.
Just brief voices like “keep going” or “good pace,”
that touch the wind and dissolve almost immediately.

While running,
thoughts come undone, then gently tie themselves back together again.

Sometimes, not thinking at all
feels like the clearest state of mind.

Before I notice it, the body feels lighter,
and that change is not measured in numbers,
but arrives quietly, like wind passing over water.

Everything begins to move, when the body remembers its rhythm.