the tortoise and the hare

You always think that you are faster than me. Every time we stand on that yellow line you say, See you at the finish, sucker. I'll be waiting.

And it's true. The whistle sounds, you get there before me, and you stand waiting with your arms folded across your chest and your lips folded into a silly grin and when I meet you, however much later, you tell me that you got there minutes, days, months ago.

Yes, I say, that is how it would appear. But it's not because you are faster than me.

You look at me and blink. I won, you say. I won.

Uh huh, I nod. I cannot argue that logic. But, I tell you once more, it's not because you are faster than me.

It’s because of the grass and the trees and the pebbles.

Sometimes it's because of the mud. Often it’s because of the sky.

You just run and you see the end and your body takes you there before you know it.

I trip, you know. I lose sense of direction, get distracted. I am led astray by the wind and seated on a branch. Leaves scratch at my neck and while you are below me, moving swiftly, I am breathless and sitting quietly, dangling my legs.

I am thinking of a song.

I am drawing a picture.

I am picking out my favourite clouds, placing them in envelopes and sending them to you.

Let me know when you get them.

Be sure to sit, curl your legs under, I promise not to overtake you.

Really, I’m not in a hurry. Understand there’s a million things I can do.

Please. Enjoy.

And when you are ready, make your way to the yellow line. Wait for me. With your arms folded, with that silly grin if you like, and I’ll be there at some point, after you, but not because you are faster than me.