Out of Body

Earbuds firmly planted, for the first time I listened to the musical magic of Depeche Mode, flagship for my eighties alternative generation, as I waited for my race. My mind was freed, and I only unplugged when approaching the starting blocks, tossing my Walkman to a teammate as surrounding sounds invaded once again. I leaped from the start as the gun cracked overhead, body smoothly coiling into its well-practiced groove . . . swing, swing, thud, thud, breathe, swing, swing, thud, thud, breathe. Mine was the last race, the middle lane, as a slowly setting sun fixated my wondering eyes. The rest of the world faded, disappeared, and I saw myself in silence from above, a dipping, gliding, firm, young body pulling ahead of all others, feeling like the proverbial poetry in motion, sailing to a solo finish across the line and only then hearing the roaring, cheering crowd once again.

 

                                                       Out of my body

                                                       beyond the pale evening light

                                                       wishing to be where

                                                       Tracy Plath