Wheeeee, I’m sliding. Quick, thrilling, stunning. Then I see what waits for me at the bottom. Sharp, agonizing, ugly. I dig my heels in. I slow somewhat. I rest. The heels on my boots are worn smooth. I start slipping again. Downward. I reach out, grasping, burying my hands in the muck. My hands ache with the cold dampness. I feel a root and squeeze, slowing my descent. For now. The plant is slippery, like the slope. Its nerve works its way through my grip. I gain speed, falling. I flip over, kicking into the hill with the scuffed toes of my boots, burrowing my fingers into the dirt. There I hang, by my fingernails and fine grit.
Causes Jodi Thompson Supports
Unitarian Universalist Service Committee