Back to the word ‘jumping.’

It was a beautiful seductive day, the kind that demanded that you to go outside. I responded to my city by wearing my brand new outfit. The colorful, abstract polished cotton shirt made me happy, and the shorts were cute too. This may have been one of the first shifts from being a virulent tom boy. I thrummed with the heart of my city.

I couldn’t decide on what to do. To reach the porch roof, I would have to jump out in an arc to avoid the rose bush and the water pipe.

While I sat outside the window sill, dangling my legs I pondered and pondered the feasibility of throwing myself around like that. I mean, jumping from a swing to the ground was one thing, but I never jumped in an arc.

An apple called me from the kitchen, one of those golden kind that were sweet and sparkly. This time, I stood on the window sill, leaning against the jam crunching away at that apple. Still trying to figure out what would happen if I stepped off and jumped out like a diver from a high dive board.

In my childlike wisdom, I decided that sitting and swinging my legs to throw myself out the window would probably land me on the porch at my ribs. I would probably bounce off and kill my mothers’ plants. As much as she loved and sacrificed for us, I knew where my ranking was when it came to her flowers.

I decided.

The apple was long gone. Standing on the windowsill, one hand on each side of the window jam I decided that I would jump to the roof of the porch. I never worried that the yellow corrugation would hold the impact of my weight. I never worried that I couldn’t jump in an arc. Now people watch basket ball players do it all the time. Yeah, but I thought of it FIRST.

I bounced up and down a little, to get ready for the jump… I was committed to the act
See you back at the porch later, that's enough jumping for now