I feel gravity as a law. My bones are compact and thickened by its insistence. I feel it in my arms as my attempt to swing from tree to tree fails. My shoulder is stretched to its limit. My fingers clamp down on the branch, but the forward action of the swing threatens to dislodge them. As a child I distinctly remember this being easier. Perhaps the laws of gravity are less severe for minors. Perhaps my upward transgressions were then forgivable. But not now.

My hands slip, and as I plummet I think that I have not even made a monkey out of myself. A monkey could do this. I cannot.