The terrain caught his eyes. A mountainous denim blue that shifted ever so lightly. He took it in, eyes fluttering, deep thoughts of — ignorance? No, that would be insulting. But ignorance is bliss they say. Reckless? The word is unintelligible. He has the faith of an infant — not blissful nor reckless but infant-sized courage.
He goes for it, building momentum, grabbing the target and pulling himself up. He ascends with little fanfare. He fails to appreciate the success. His mission was to pass through, not to revel in the ascent. He descends dangerously. His head leads the way. He’s not concerned about good looks. Scars and bruises are to be desired more than vainglory in a mirror. His face hits the ground and his body folds like an accordion on impact. It then unfolds and flops to the side. He has conquered in descent. His fall was triumphant. His eyes turn to me for approval. I nod. He nods. Never have my legs been so useful. Ezra’s infant-sized courage defeated the mountain — and he knew it.
© 2014, Rick Hogaboam. All rights reserved.