Threadrunner

I cut through the air like a blade. I am a torrent of leaves kicked up in the wind. I grasp at the fabric of the universe and wrap myself in its tensile folds.

The higher I climb, the more the internal doubter makes himself known:

"But what if you fall?"

Does the spider fear a fall from her web? Do the stars tremble at the possibility they'll plummet from the heavens?

I dance with the mighty gale; I am cradled by the weave of the universe.

The doubter will never know the air as I do.