It is spring, March roses are starting to bloom and the cherry blossom trees are permeating the earth with little flowers that look like warm snow.

The earth is mocking me. Around me the world is slowing down, the atmosphere itself is coming out of hiding. Would you believe that I am in danger? That while the world looks solemn, I am running away from my life.

The flowers need to pick up the speed of their blooming, I have never been a patient person.

All of this tranquility is a blur around me, as my hands are sweating and my pulse is quickening, and I can feel the tension in my knuckles which are turning white against the mane of a horse that was only meant for pastures.

Urgency has grabbed me, death is whispering in my ear. “Please God.” I mutter into the carrying wind. There is no feeling to my lips, my nose, my ears. If I am aware of danger, that will ruin me.

“Please, please,” I urge the horse on. This is only a race, similar to when I was a child. Gaining on me is only my sister, and not a man on a war horse. Before me is only a finish line, and not a cliff that I must jump over.

It is too late to think of a strategy, just a simple jump and it will all be okay. Just a jump and I will be able to enjoy this spring. Dust is filling my lungs and the sprays of water are hitting my face, I am standing up now, my legs squeezed tight against the body of this horse. “Go, go!” I yell into the dusk.

My eyes are shut tight, I feel myself slide momentarily toward the neck of my horse and I am flying through the air. I steal a look back and the cliff face is crumbling.

My body slams against rock, gashes of blood are released across my face, a sound that is not human is escaping my lips but I do not care. Below me, a mass of black fur is falling.

I cling to the rock, wishing I was a mountain goat. I cannot climb. I feel like throwing up. Should I let myself fall? A rough, weather-beaten hand reaches down, I stare blankly before I realize I am alive and I am saved. It takes everything in me to reach up and grab it.

It pulls me up with a grunt.

I lay on the sharp grass for a minute, feeling the ground, looking up at the sun which is breaking through the clouds. Catching my breath, I sit up.

The war-horse has ended its pursuit beyond the cliff, and is retreating back. Tears sting my eyes partly, relief crashes like a wave through my body.

I cannot sleep without thanks. My savior is nowhere to be found, and now I must go looking. Become the pursuer? Will I ever rest and slow down like the falling cherry trees and Spring.

I was made for urgency; It seems I was created for this race.