I knew a boy who could run so fast, that he'd outrun his own thoughts. Whenever he did that, his mind stayed way behind, and it took minutes to catch up with the boy. Light thoughts, like sparrows, flapped their wings as quickly as they could, just to sit right back on his fluffy hair, and weave tiny nest that would keep them safe. Heavy thoughts rolled after him like leaden balls, just to cling back to his baby feet, and be pushed into the future.

He ran to places he had seen and loved before, so that he could see their beauty anew, before his preconceptions arrived and took all the pleasure of discovering away. He’d run home, open the door, and sniff the air wafting from the kitchen, and he’d wrinkle his forehead in concentration, while he tried to recognise what was cooking. He was a stranger in his own house for a minute. Then the sparrows, light thoughts, would catch up and burst into the house, sit right on his hair, and he’d remember he’d started making pancakes, and that theirs was the smell filling the air. He’d smile at the thought of maple syrup. A minute later, the heavy thoughts rolled in, weighed on his feet, and he’d remember his best friend had died…
He’d sit down quietly and pour maple syrup over the pancakes. He’d then cry and mourn his friend.

When you run so fast, time gets confused. The boy was an old man one day, and a puppy the next.
When you run so fast, a hurricane comes rising from under your whizzing foot. A hurricane that can lift houses.

On my way to the lake, I sometimes feel a sudden blow of that violent wind that shatters onto my face. I stop and count to sixty. I then hear the sound of a thousand sparrows flying right by my head. I smile. Another minute later, my heart gives way to a thousand rolling bulldozers.