It’s how we start

It’s how we start. The first inkling of thought. The first twitch toward movement. The synapse fire. Hot and blinding as lightening. Automatic as breath. White as ash. Over before you had realized it had begun. And blood racing to muscles. And ligaments stretching over bone. And tendons pulling over bone. And sweat puddling the crevices if your body, rolling off your head like rain. Lungs taking air. The drum of your heart inside your chest, weight shifting. Body soaring sliding through the air. Motion. One step. One neuron. One synapse at a time.