climbing down i've noticed that there's little more than shadows and echoes at the bottom of a well. in that dark, handholds could just as easily grab as release. shadows tending to bend upward, relying on fickle seasonal sunshine to rise, give chase to echoes. and the echoes seem to dissolve outward seeking faded freedom in the sky.
where is my wild?
my bounce and threat of random?
my edge of impossible?