Riding a Falling Leaf

Snap drop glide

  

Stall drop whoosh

 

Drop glide fall

 

Sway sway sway

Swing

I pump my legs back then kick them out and face up to the clear blue sky. I fly up, up, up, through the clean air, into the vast blue. I fly higher and higher, my back to the ground, face to the sky. The air around me gets cooler. The chill air quickly moves past my face, feeling like wind blowing from heaven down to earth. I fly so high the sky turns from blue to black. Soon stars appear in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the glowing blue curve of Earth's atmosphere. I can't tell if I'm slowing down, or if space is just so vast that I lose all perception of speed. Soon I slow to almost a stop. I turn myself to face the Earth. It grows smaller and smaller, an illuminated blue sphere with speckles of white and brown. Where am I going? I float farther and farther away until suddenly I'm snapped back like a rubber band, hurling toward earth so quickly I can't make out the stars around me. As the Earth approaches, I see only a hint of the blue glow before I see the land moving toward me impossibly fast. My body feels the sensation of falling, and my limbs start flailing on their own as if they possess the power to slow my descent. I close my eyes because I don't want to see my death. I turn my body to face the blue sky so I see its beauty as my life is snuffed out. I feel something catch me, holding me from underneath. It grips my backside and seems to all but stop my fall. I feel it jerk and then suddenly I'm swinging backward. I see the ground underneath me. The creaking screech of the chains brings my consciousness back to my surroundings. I don't move, allowing my pendulum swings to get smaller and smaller until my body comes to a rest, still hanging a few inches above the earth, my journey done.

quicksand

i'm stuck

in the muck

of writer's block



sucked in

by the viscous

love of words



writing looks

so pleasant

a sandy beach



but the deep

waters below

form a trap



i can't resist

the sensation

of flowing words



but when flow

mixes with dry

i can't escape



being a writer

is balancing

on quicksand

Never too old

I love the way bubbles
  tickle the skin

     Twirling around,
       arms in the air

          catching the bubbles
            as they float

               up up up