Sally Gerard

Fog, thick and penetrating-like wet and cold being injected directly into your bones and sinew. As I ran down the road, I had to keep my eyes on the white line at my feet, because when I tried to look up, I felt like the top of the world was pressing onto my head, squashing me into the pavement. This fog was full of wet, more than most as my pony tail was dripping down the back of my neck by the time I hit the end of the first mile.

Cautious–the word flashed in my head. I couldn’t see far but those ghost like headlights coming toward me wouldn’t see me either. The flashing arm band could not generate enough light for even me to see it. Two pick-ups swerved at the last minute, causing me to want to hit the ditch. I got as close to the road’s edge as I could. At my turnaround spot, I looked up as always  to see Orion, but he’d been swallowed by the wet cloud–who could shoot a bow in this anyway?

Another small pick-up began slowing down, but this felt eerie as he pulled off into a gate. I started moving to the center of the two lanes, then the lights went out. I pulled my headphones out and heard a car door open and I got over to the other side of the road. He said something, but I don’t know what–sort of a grunt. I responded with a crisp, mornin’, and sped up, trying not to look like I was running away, but checking back over my shoulder and then forward for an escape route if I needed it. I contemplated whether or not I could hold him off or if anyone would hear me if I stared to scream. I looked behind again and wondered if I’d even see him coming at me in this fog.

Me and my dripping pony tail were relieved when I pushed the front door open again, closed it locked behind me,  and smelled the coffee.

Now, I run on dirt roads and only worry about skunks and coyotes.