a different way to fly

I run.
My feet move to the sound of a melody I've been working out on the piano.
Nothing in my ears but the wind.
My watch free wrists cut back and forth across the middle of me.
No time trials...no shuffle mix.
The song I breathe in rhythm today is an old melodic church hymn,
"Holy is the Lord."
The first two miles wash me head to toe in an early autumn downpour.
"Holy is the Lord",
I slosh up hill, rain pelting.
Four miles.
"Righteousness and mercy",
sunlight forcing through the gray.
Eight miles.
The backroads are glimmering.
"Judgement and Grace",
I pry off a soaking sweatshirt and tie the soggy arms of it around my waist.
Ten.
"Faithfulness and Sovereignty",
the fog settles low between the firs and above the emerald fields, a strip of blue.
Twelve miles.
I'm flying...
"Holy is the Lord."
The wings He's given me look more like feet.