Scarborough Sunday morning

The sea is restless excited.
The surf and the clouds
falling over each other against the shore
as the wind whips between them
and my hair across my face
as I run
pounding
my feet
on the tar.

My breath, loud in my ears
catches the wind
which rises and falls
and the short burst of rain which
pelts my bare legs,
gone as soon as it starts and
a patch of sunlight breaks through the clouds.

I feel my familiar enemy rising
and push through it joyfully,
watching the waves,
feeling the sun on my face
and seeing the distance still to go.

Nothing.
Nothing against my skin but a shirt and some shorts and the elements;
the sun and the wind and the sound of the sea as it breaks on the shore and roars and I am running and running.
And I am running and running.