Downhill Slide

The dried sycamore leaf was three times my width, cupped like a shallow toboggan. I dragged it to the top of the mossy embankment beside the gravel path. The slope dropped at a clean twenty-degree slant toward the path. I paused at the crest, surveying the route between two dandelion stalks. Clear terrain. I stepped onto the broad central rib, wedged my boot heels against the stem, and leaned forward. The descent was swift. Cool grass hissed beneath the leaf until we skidded onto the flat gravel. A smooth stop. I dusted my knees. Considerably faster than walking down.