Smell the Oak Leaves

Covering the course with an array of rusty-gold browns, the oak leaves look up at me. I am speeding by them, memory at my back- searching for something to hold on to. But instead of seeing my life clearly, all I can seem to concentrate on are these oak leaves. The smell of them as I sprint by. The knowledge they hold for me, somehow they show me my own intelligence. The years spent hovering over a book full of descriptions of trees flood through my narrowing conciseness. Bur, red, pin, white, black, live, myrtle, post, and running oak trees. I try to identify the leaves by their shape, color, and edge displacement. As I attempt to concentrate on my pace I feel my life slip away. All I can smell is oak leaf. All I can think is that these leaves are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Something inside me snaps and I find myself pushed beyond what I thought I could do. Thanks to the bur and red oak leaves.