Memory: Most of it was smooth, in fact it appeared so much like a grey river snaking through the woods, that if enough blue paint were spilled on it, it would have really been identical. My footsteps echoed against the trees, reverberating into my ears. The wind blew against my hair, pushing it straight back. I felt swift, I felt powerful, and I felt invincible. However, as much as the pavement gave me a smooth surface to run on, it also could so quickly take it away. Although the smooth grey stretched on for miles into the woods, there were still imperfections. Years of trucks and cars speeding down the road was sure to take its toll eventually. Unfortunately, with the serenity of the woods, and the metronomic beat of my feet against the pavement, I was far too invested to keep my eyes open for any sign of such imperfections. Had I not been so engulfed in the beauty of the moment, I surely would have noticed the pot hole that loomed up ahead; but as many people will tell you, hindsight is 20/20. So even in the moment that my right leg sunk into the pot hole and I felt my rhythmic steps come grinding to a halt, I still didn’t fully grasp that in fact, my grey river wasn’t so perfect after all. I hit the ground, barely catching myself with my arms. The pavement wasn’t so smooth as it had once appeared. Small pebbles and torn pieces of the pavement dug into my skin as I landed on them. From my new perspective of laying on the ground, the grey river looked a bit more like what it was; a road full of cracks and crevices. Observation: Staring at the pavement in front of me is not a particularly spectacular activity. I can see other people around me looking over at me, obviously curious as to why I seem so particularly enthralled with the walkway in front of me. All around me I can hear the noise of students hurrying to and from classes, some of the footfall heavier than others, and occasionally I hear the click of heeled shoes as a girl who decided to go to class particularly dressed up passes by. Staring at the pavement reveals little inspiration, after all, it’s just a plain grey tapestry that has been worn down over the years by thousands of pairs of feet walking over it. As I stare at the empty space before me, a skateboarder rockets straight over where my gaze had been stuck for several moments, jarring me from my stare. I watch as the skateboard continues down the path, bumping slightly over the imperfections in the pavement.