hopscotch

so, this is the game. you throw the stone, you jump. suspended in mid-air, you hold your breath. you count: the number of times you said i love you, the number of windows in your childhood home, stars, apocalyptic moments, mouthfuls of lemon sorbet, the many windy paths you didn't take, scattered thoughts, beats... beating hearts you felt, your ear pressed onto a chest. rising and falling. keeping time and holding still. eyes shut tight. your hair, then, lightly brushing leaves as you descend. illuminated. the tip of your toe makes contact with the ground, the earth catches you, warm-humid-black. a billion scattered microbes. a centring. sounds like distant echoes, underwater. the stillness of your rooted core. balance and poise regained, as you lower yourself, pause, and gently pick up the stone.