The Zebra’s Run
The zebra looked up, the field was covered with shades of green again, and the grass in the distance looked infinite. It was another day in the world, he thought, just another day for an old zebra like himself, but he knew well another day was a reason enough to celebrate. The blue sky, the same sky he had seen so many times, let him know the day was still young, and in the distance, he recognized friendly faces.
Little zebras played around him, and their smiles filled the vast space around him. He too had been a young zebra long before, and he too had smiled enjoying a world that seemed new and infinite. The games they play are not the games we once played, he thought, things change, but their innocence is the same, and so is their joy.
The wet grass felt good on his legs, it was a good day for walking around, and the sun felt nice on his old shoulders. Walking around he started to speed up his pace, some movement was good for the muscles, after all, and suddenly he was trotting. His legs moved slower than they once did, but he still had the technique, and the breeze welcomed him like a cool blanket.
An old zebra jogging around must be a funny image, he laughed, or any old animal jugging around must be a picturesque image for that matter. But he was enjoying it too much to be embarrassed, or concern about looking funny, he felt younger even when he was aware of his years. If the day had some life left, so did he, so he speeded up.
Suddenly, the old zebra was running, without looking back. The sun pushed on his hips, and the leaves jumped from the ground as he kicked them passing on top of them. The old zebra had one more run left, and he was going to enjoy it.