Rush not the brush, lay prone in anticipation
Attune all your senses for a saturation of orientation
Silently slither atop the berm, peering over its cusp
The rolling meadow below is inviting, open and lush
Triangulate your target - fleeting; dancing to and fro
Keep your eyes on the prize in the valley down below
Calculated rolling movements, inching toward your goal
Grasping clenched fists of earth pulling in excercized control
Straddle the ledge with a swing of your leg, apex mounting master
Mark your site, then stand and run, faster, faster, faster!
As you near the conclusion of the slope you notice a change in symmetry
'Tis no longer a field of grass, rather a green ocean's breeze
Arms outreached you take the plunge, swallowed into this hole in the earth
Enveloped by wetness you dive ever deep, unconscious of length or depth or girth
Breaking through the surface in an explosive emergence of movement; head and hands and air
A singular butterfly alights on your fingertip as if it were predestined to always be there.