Mountain Run

By: Diana Testa

My tired eyes fixate on the morning

Mountains— glowing purple and peach rock.

Nine miles of unsteady breathing

Has me wishing this run was a tranquil walk.

My aching legs meet rolling hills

That appear to bring me closer to the peak.

I push on though my body craves to be still—

I cannot let the mountains know I’m weak.


A version of this post originally appeared in “Tenacity” The Teller October 2019 Issue #7

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