I will wring my hands and words will fall like symbols plink plinking down. I will see pinkish plastic and brown coated durable pyrex pottery fall and not shatter. I will fall, too, because I miss the impact, a quick and heavy physical reminder of fortitude. When you learn to fall in rugby you become aware of something that was always true. It is the feeling of a false a fear being removed, it is a remembering, a return. When you play slapshots (drinking a shot and replacing a chaser with a slap in the face) with your friend, you rely on her to trust you and show you that trust by producing a sting that never gets old and always does its job of removing the sting of the alcohol. The words produced can do the same- bring you through risk to remembrance. I write to produce a small shock that is an enlivening of the bodys capabilities, a sting of pleasure and knowledge of that which was already there.