He climbs, and climbs ... one foot in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other... If you saw him, you’d be amazed how much purpose could be in one so small... He climbs, and climbs... He rests... Ask him now... ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Up.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because.’ ‘What are you seeking?’ ‘Up.’ He climbs again... one foot in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other... climbs, and climbs... He stops. There is nowhere more to climb. He bunches his feet, bends his legs, stretches... opens, unfolds, spreads... and flies... up...
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A very small beetle is walking up a very tall blade of grass. He walks, and walks – one foot in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other – and walks, and rests. He walks on, upwards. At the top tip, he stops, since there is nowhere further to walk. He bunches his feet at the top tip, bends his legs, stretches upwards; opens his wing cases, spreads his creased wings... and flies... up.
