Runner

He has wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, narrowed his eyes made his hand a shade for his gaze he watches all around to the horizon of his blurred field of sight. Two large dark crescents show beneath his arms. Through the slit of his shirt, spears of the scorching air burn his shoulder. He has made his hand a shade for his gaze he watches all around: the shade of a willow tree, beside a pond, a human voice, perhaps? maybe?...