There was a breathlessness in the air as I jogged through the trees, past the parking lot and houses and civilization and into a dense nook of Mother Nature. I hate running. I hate running a lot. But still, every once in a while I manage to drag myself to the little trail of woods and try my very best to keep one foot moving in front of the other.

I get it. Some people love to run. Some legs can gallop so gracefully you'd think the person they belonged to wasn't human. Running is supposed to be an escape— exercise too— but mostly, an escape. Letting your body move swiftly and repeatedly and heaving your chest up and down, filling your lungs with air and then pushing it out again like a deflating balloon is all supposed to be some kind of remedy. Running is the anecdote to the things that, well, you need to run away from— that sharp pain in your chest when you're holding tears right beneath your eyes.

These are the things I'm told, anyway. Personally, running adds to the tears for me. So when I'm actually in the mood for a jog, I take full advantage of the opportunity to exercise and I pull my hair back and let myself huff and puff with the heartbeat of the earth around me. I ran through the trail tonight with deep emptiness. Has your body ever been so sleepy, so heavy with the weight of the day, that you think it can't move anymore? And what does it feel like when you move it anyway?

It feels like dead weight, but it feels like floating too. My mind was blissfully blank as I moved mindless feet on the path. I could hear cicadas singing and September enclosing and the gruffness of my breath, but it was all so far away. My shoulders grew heavier and heavier like they always do when I run, but it was a good kind of heavy— something to feel when I was feeling almost nothing at all.

I can't say running in a total state of exhaustion made the list of my best ideas so far. I can say that the lightheadedness inspired new stories and ideas and thoughts that I may have never had otherwise. I can also say that the end of my run, that final trek back home, was magic.

As I slowed down my pace and stepped unmethodically across the rocks at the end of the trail, I looked up for what felt like the first time in hours. The sky was deepening and the cicadas were even louder in my head than before. My breath was still heavy as a let out a little laugh. Lightning bugs were everywhere. I blinked and widened my eyes. More and more began to shine through trees, blades of grass, leaves on the ground.

To the right of me was the gate back home, with a thousand fireflies bouncing through the wires and dancing light back and forth. To the left was more woodedness, sparkling with a happy yellow color.

Maybe it was the lack of food and energy and the horrible shape my body is in. Maybe it was the pure and complete fatigue from the long week. Whatever led me to be so enamored with a swarm of bugs doesn't matter. I was enchanted tonight, enchanted by the world and its Creator when I needed it the most.

There is a magnetism about the earth which often goes unnoticed. The lightning of September is the spark of the fireflies, just waiting for someone to stop and watch. Don't miss it. Don't miss this inhuman world around you.