Wind charging my face I breathe in, burning my lips and tongue once again for freedom, for senseless boredom.
Moments lent gravity by sound seem at once nothing and profound.
Words, woven over and under around and through the sound, strike me in the chest with their mass. I fall willing.
I tumble back into the pitch, grasping at longing and hope and joy and pain from the safety of the sidelines.
The words collect and fly forward with a will all their own, a stream of emotion and inexpressible thought that weighs me down with its density.
The words lift me up, swirling among them an equal.
The words deliver me back to the earth, and flit away, delighting in their game, to which I am a pawn.