Re-visited Thrice

I keep re-visiting the same vision.
I step out into a land of green
and an endless road of woven asphalt and dried-up dirt,
the sun arching over my back,
my shoulders feeling the gentle breeze
as my feet begin to go up the hill.

Always - the green;
the trees,
the swaying grass,
the foliage partly covering the sky.

Always the movement,
the sound of rubber on the ground,
as I climb and run,
as I distress and shake the days off
and succumb
to the motion
less gravity.