Ecce Mortis: Where Life Is

The Run, run free.

Everyday Day run.  See Plantman run.  Run Plantman, run.  Run. Run. Run.

Shed “work” clothes, don tank top, shorts, sneakers. Flamenco in the player. Down, down. The street. The crowded. The Big Park.

Mile-and-a-half dodge through and around flesh-traffic. The People, amassed, massive, thought-spasms amplified: energies colliding; faces sweating; hand-bags swinging.

No freedom like The Run.  Away, away.  Run, run.

Up the volume. Flamenco castanets, guitars. Women trilling, hands clapping — for me, dead center of the world.

Seven mile path. Green manifest. Fields shrubs trees. Not potted. Free.

Flamenco faster, louder, harder. Run. Runner. Fast. Faster. Hard. Harder.

Concentrated push charge Life energy around round round The Big Park magic circle-center of the world.

Where Life is.

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