"Look, Dad,
I'm a penguin,"
she yells as she
skims down the
skate park ramp's
rare skin of snow.
Down she goes
again and again.
Something gives
each time I
pull her up.
What's it like
to not worry
about falling?
You think back
a long way.
Almost as good
as knowing
how much falling
hurts and playing
anyway. You limp
toward the edge
then faster, shouting,
"Honey, look!"