On this rainy day I run as if there’s no need to stop. I could go forever. Slowly, sure, but endlessly down this road and that. Through this puddle and under those heavy clouds. Until I’m so far away the rules no longer apply. Even natural law evaporates. Like when I was a kid dreaming in my old bed. I'm the track. Coach has me doing the long jump. But I’m fat, I say. Doesn’t matter, she says. Just don’t put your feet down. I run the cinder path toward the sand. Slowly, sure, but I run. At the two-by-four, I jump. Pull my feet up. Knees to stomach. And I tell myself, don’t come down. The key to gravity is deciding against it. I float. My body slows, but I do not fall. I paddle the air with my hands. Move forward. I flapped my arms and rise then soar on updrafts over a world I no longer recognize. And I can go on forever. Or until morning. When I wake, forty years later, hear rain, pull on shorts anyway and go run. No coach. But a voice says, just keep going to see where the road leads, what's beyond the rain and all these years.