The sun hung over the ridge line to the west casting enlonged shadows across the once fruitfull corn fields. Pinks and reds were painted across the sky as if they had been put there by a thoughtful artist. The wind reduced to a mere breeze offered me little resistance as I walked out into the closing day. I breathed in a mixture of pine and damp earth from the last melting remants of snow.
The scene was inviting me out, back to the road, back to the familiar route that I have traveled countless times through endless seasons. A feeling of excitement rose within me as I jogged down the gravel driveway, the sound of my shoes pressing the stones together only quickened my pulse. As I turned right onto the road running into that setting sun I couldn't help but be filled with the feeling that this was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing.
God has blessed me with the gift of running
and I am forever grateful.