Often it takes a running start,
a little preparation of which I am all too fond,
but the jumping is definitely there.
Over hills, into holes,
through rings and clouds
of interesting people
that’s where I’ve found my favorite past times
memories bottled up
then drunk in reflection
now a whole new part of this self.
To jump is to love
oneself and everything around.
And when I happen to land
in a bit of mud
something sharper
harder than expected
that’s when I appreciate.
The colors of soil
swirled into a fluid marble
reflecting
the grandness of things still greater than myself
and the miraculous ability of one soul
to stand, recover,
rebuild the broken, severed, and burned bits
into a much better jumper.
This almost sounds like a counterargument to my jumping poem. But I do love jumping through, I just might look twice before I step in some mud :)
ReplyDeleteI will admit that I was inspired by your description of a low-risk quotient. Of course the real way to live is somewhere in the middle, and I will keep that in mind as my brother and I take on fire breathing this Christmas.
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