Little lightning bolt with feathered tread blinkless eyes astride your head move out of my way I am steel and a mountain of slow-witted garbage. This is my gift to you - a thrill. Your craft is a quivering heart and blinding speed. Mine is to sweat and fall down trying to avoid you. Your joy is to reach the branch, the hold, the bramble in one piece. Mine is the sleep under a layer of fat and go blind watching my neighbor's wife from the window.