Two Miles in the Jersey Dawn
Early, I rose and set about a run into the morning
Into the grey twilight before sunrise
Not yet day, but no longer night.
Down an old road
weathered, worn, pitted
and edged by the Jersey forest
so different from from the interstate nearby.
And yet the same too.
I listen to the unlikely harmony
of the forest sounds and the interstate.
The early birds, crickets and cicadas,
The rumbling of the trucks and cars
making their bleary way to points north and south.
They really aren’t that different;
All part of the same pattern.
Smuggly, I smile to myself
thinking I know something they do not
when a deer and I startle each other
and she lights away.
I’m part of that pattern too.
I reach my turnaround point at sunrise and pause briefly
I see more deer, a family this time who watch me anxiously
As I wave good morning, the first train of the day sounds,
bearing passengers to Manahattan and points between.
I head back toward home
and listen to the crows cackling
about the morning’s freshly found carrion.
The sodium lights begin to darken
in homage of the rising sun.
And I am glad to have been here;
to have seen, no, to have been a part of it.