She paces.
Two forward, one back; three forward, one back; for forward, one back.
And, in this way, she picks up her pace, each time, getting a little bit further.
As others, get further, they actually get closer – closer to a goal, to someone else’s goal – a goal that someone else set, for them. Once there, they stop for a while, and then – set forth, or further – closer to the next goal. And, so, the others keep on going – at the same, steady pace.
But, she. She, the pacer, doesn’t stop. She keeps on, further, and further (not closer), and the pace becomes a gentle jog, and the jog becomes a sprint, and the sprint becomes a roll.
She’s all wheels. No brakes. Wheeling until she’s out of sight, but not
out of her mind, still thinking, and not stopping ———————————————->
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2019
Image by Evren Ozdemir from Pixabay
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 