On the sidewalk beside the garden,
a girl bounces her ball.

bounce.
bounce.
bounce.

A good, loud sound.
Louder than she knows.

 

At the edge of a thin gray crack—
something moves.

Small.
Green.
Careful.

 

An inchworm.

Measure.
Reach.
Pull.

He keeps going.

The sidewalk is wide.
A long way to go.

 

Bounce.

The ground cracks with sound.
The air jumps.

To the inchworm—
thunder.

 

Too loud.
Too close.
Too much.

The inchworm curls tight—
a small green question.

Wait.

 

Measure.
Reach—

Bounce.

It happens again.

 

The girl catches the ball.

The ball forgets to fall.

She looks down.

So small.
So loud.

 

The inchworm waits.

Still now.
Still now.

A pebble rises like a hill.
Ants hurry past—
carrying pieces of the world.

The sidewalk is enormous.

 

The girl lowers the ball slowly.

She does not bounce it.

She sits.
She watches.

 

Measure.
Reach.
Pull.

A little farther.

 

A puddle spreads wide—
a piece of sky on the ground.

Too wide.

Lift.
Stretch.
Around.

 

Measure.
Reach.
Pull.

The leaves are close now.

So close.

 

Almost—

The inchworm stretches forward—

Don’t move.
Don’t move.
Don’t—

The shadow drops.

 

For a second—
her hands almost do it.

 

She stops herself.

Holds still.
Waits.

Can you hold it with me?

 

Measure.
Reach.
Pull.

Home.

The inchworm slips into the garden
and is gone.

 

The girl sits a moment longer.

The ball rests in her lap.

The world is quieter—
or maybe she is.

 

Plip.

Something lands on her sleeve.

 

Another inchworm.

Down—
up—
WHEE.

Again?

 

The girl smiles.

“Easy,” she whispers.

Slowly—
very slowly—
she sets the tiny traveler near the leaves.

 

Measure.
Reach.
Pull.

Two inchworms.
One wide world.

 

The girl stands.

Bounce—

She pauses.

Listens first.

 

Bounce.

Softer now. She listens.