As I make my morning mile
I ponder the pebbles
strewn across the dirt road, they stand
unusually tall in the early morning sunlight.
Long shadow fingers point across the road,
like the tails of active blood drops
indicating the direction of travel.
And the sun travels,
peering into pockmarks from pebbles
leaping from tire and sole and hoof.
And perhaps we are all just pebbles,
whether standing tall or running away,
our legacies as enduring as pockmarks
and shadows on the sand.