Blue Hour

Early Morning. Cold winds. Wind in your hair.

Running along an abandoned street. The air is grey and colors don’t exist.

Fresh grass, drops of dew hanging on them. Soon they’ll fall. The blue hour is short.

It’s too fresh. The air smells like mint, you’re choked with it.

Running in a valley, across the grass. Your socks are wet.

But it feels good.

To be overwhelmed with new air. The silent earth before the birds make chaos.

You run..

You run..

The grass is tall and they wrap around your feet. You fall to the ground.

The smell of the grass overwhelms you. It’s itchy when they brush against you. You stumble up pushing the grass out of the way.

The sound of laughter fills the air. Your friend is laughing at you. You laugh, almost choking. Because you have a runny nose. It’s cold.

But it feels good.

You jump up and down as the wind blows. It’s too cold to stay still.

A couple others join after you. You wait for them to catch up.

You run fast. You run slow.

You wheeze out your breaths as you reach the mountain.

It’s impossible. The blue hour is short.

Your chest expands. The bones reach outwards. You explode.

But it feels good.

The morning sun comes up. And your skin is golden. Chest exploded, sweat down your back, smiles on your faces. The birds start their chatter. And your stomach rumbles.

It’s time to go back home.