Second Wind

The slow mile before you warm up, when your legs are still asking questions and the answer is just keep moving. Weighted bass moves like a body that's tired but not done. This is the track for the part of the climb where nothing feels light yet.

A kettle boiled and cooled three times, still coming to a whistle. Domestic persistence — the wooden spoon keeping time, the floorboard counting, nothing in the kitchen giving up on its job. For the moment you decide the next small thing is enough.

The familiar lock catching, the plan snapping back into place. A warm pocket that knows where it's going because it's been here before. For getting back on track and finding the groove was never gone.

A bicycle downhill, hands off the bars, the wind doing the steering now. The second wind that shows up unearned — like a phone ringing right when you'd stopped checking. For the moment effort stops and momentum carries.

A ball bouncing back higher than it fell. Warm buoyancy stacking small wins into something that moves on its own. For when momentum starts doing the work.

The shortcut only you know, shoes that remember the route. A walking bassline that matches your stride and asks nothing of you. For nowhere to be but here — and here's got a good beat.

The summit you didn't plan to climb, the bench nobody else sits on. Town lights already on below — you just weren't high enough to see them. For the view that was always there, finally in reach.

The exhale after holding your breath. Shoulders finally remembering to drop, warm light not shadows. For the earned stillness on the far side of a hard climb.

The slow mile before you warm up, when your legs are still asking questions and the answer is just keep moving. Weighted bass moves like a body that's tired but not done. This is the track for the part of the climb where nothing feels light yet.

A kettle boiled and cooled three times, still coming to a whistle. Domestic persistence — the wooden spoon keeping time, the floorboard counting, nothing in the kitchen giving up on its job. For the moment you decide the next small thing is enough.

The familiar lock catching, the plan snapping back into place. A warm pocket that knows where it's going because it's been here before. For getting back on track and finding the groove was never gone.

A bicycle downhill, hands off the bars, the wind doing the steering now. The second wind that shows up unearned — like a phone ringing right when you'd stopped checking. For the moment effort stops and momentum carries.

A ball bouncing back higher than it fell. Warm buoyancy stacking small wins into something that moves on its own. For when momentum starts doing the work.

The shortcut only you know, shoes that remember the route. A walking bassline that matches your stride and asks nothing of you. For nowhere to be but here — and here's got a good beat.

The summit you didn't plan to climb, the bench nobody else sits on. Town lights already on below — you just weren't high enough to see them. For the view that was always there, finally in reach.

The exhale after holding your breath. Shoulders finally remembering to drop, warm light not shadows. For the earned stillness on the far side of a hard climb.