Morning Runs

Each morning in the dim light of predawn, my rental car windows fogged from the night's dew, I crept out of the placid, monotonous meander of this gated village of white-walled condominiums and sprawling lawns. With a little more gas, I headed straight down the avenue, over the inter-coastal water way, and parked next to the pier of Deerfield Beach in front of what was a Howard Johnson.  No shoes, no shirt, and my bathing suit. I trotted down to water's edge for my early morning run.  With low tide, the sand is hard, my foot steps showed a dig of my forefoot and the slight touch of my heal as I ran to the inlet and back. My tracks followed the undulating motion of the waves.  The sun rose on the horizon.