Your Lane.

When I moved home after 10 years away

I found solace at a school.

Not inside a classroom

like the one whose walls I had once called mine

but outside under the sky.

An asphalt track

welcomed my feet.

Under heat, turning brown.

Under clouds, turning cold.

Under snow

Under rain

And one perfect Wednesday evening,

under a sunset so pure,

it could only be God saying, Welcome.

I was not alone.

As I walked in my lane, I watched a young man

kicking field goals.

One perfect arc after another.

He was in his prime, perhaps.

And perhaps life might not ever be

as perfect as it was this cold, clear evening

ever again.

Would he remember?

I would.

When doubt came knocking

when life was simply boxing in the dark

no target

there would remain

a track

nine lanes

a perfect arc

and someone’s voice saying

Welcome.

Thanks for reading.

-Beth