Notions appear and are no more from me than the rising Sun, but no less natural either.  When I was a boy, as in “just a”, I practiced things they had rules against.  Awkwardly lagging behind in much, the return from outside Recess brought me to the sanctuary of empty stairwells alone.  Too scrawny and clumsy for playground hero, I instead practiced skipping steps.  What everyone else ascended one-by-one, I stretched to twos, just like skipping a flat rock on water.  There is joy in momentum and the intensity of gliding.

More magical than that was descending.  The ninja of cats (Mom wouldn’t let us have one), I somehow never got caught leaping down a flight, from the terrazzo top to its square midpoint landing.  Twisted ankles were an occupational hazard but the sensation was ecstatic.  Floating through air is impossible, of course, which made it harder to figure out and only fun-er to do.  I’m still addicted to floating.  It may sound Hokey Pokey but that’s what it’s all about.