Simplicity came rolling down the hill yesterday for the third time. He plodded his way back to the top through a carpet of earthly feather. Bent green blades under his footsteps were resurrecting themselves to attention. At the summit, he waited till every one of them came full staff. Simple was ready to roll again. In his final breath, he stiffened his neck and crossed his arms like a dying pharaoh. The weight of death tilted his form over like a timbering tree. His feet flopped out straight as the momentum took his carcass rolling. Through squinted eyes he saw the blending of grass and sky. His eyelashes jousted an army of relentless green sabers. Every roll of his keel led to an ambush of cheeky javelins. His mummy came to a stop at the edge of the river. He tried to remain as he landed. Perfect in the stillness of his death. But from his motionless body a smile resurrected. As crow’s feet broke through their drawbridge, he laughed so hard the grass giggled.