Misery Business

I stepped on a rock mid-stride - my ankle coiled and recoiled. I skimpered a couple of steps, slowed pace and felt the winter wind piercing into my eyes numbing my cheeks and drying my lips. I felt thirsty, blood circling down to my nearly-sprained ankle. Pacing the trail, dew settled calm on top the stream to my right. Ducks, in uniform danced atop the crystal water surface. Dry hybernating trees stared into the air - frozen till Spring. How long to go? I change tracks, watch the couple gallop by. I nurse my foot with small step, then into a half-paced stride - trying to recoup my rhythm for the rest of the way. Still more to go.