​​​​​​Dina Greenberg

The sky is brilliant blue.  I feel powerful as I begin to run.  I close my eyes to feel my own sense of balance.  At the bottom of the hill I see a landscape truck and a middle-aged man lifting a mower from the flatbed.  He pushes it across the street to the lawn where he is working.

 As I run past, I almost miss the old man who is slouched in a lawn chair on the driveway, just beyond where the truck is parked at the curb.  His head is cocked to one side.  The man's skin is tanned a golden brown, his balding head an even darker shade; it is only early spring.