The nascence of a ball is given momentum and through momentum shall it persist.
The First is naive, excitable. Flashing targets and happy bounces all convalescing in a whirlwind of being. Until misfortune surprises it and with an abrupt clang! ends the dance.
When The Second starts to think and fight, the incandescent ramps’ seductive songs of The Prior and The Future and their glorious flights to dreams yet undreamed of, bedazzle and drive it upwards, forever upwards!
“Where did The First and The Second go?”, The Third asks. “Oh how merrily my loops spun without this naysayer…” — but the latter is the ball and the ball is the player. “And I wish I’d known about The Extras before I’d wasted them all.”
The blessing of The Fourth may yet come unannounced, solemnly and slowly. Belated as it may be, a ride is a ride. Wherever this all goes, with every sputter it yearns to know.
A Forgotten Nook 