"You run through the knee high grass, up to the hill
You hear them laughing behind, but they don't know your intentions
You run as fast as you can
With short breaths you smell the mellow grassy sweetness, but mostly you smell the strong jasmines all around the crooked stone wall
They are so sweet and strong they fuzz your brain like sticky glue
You reach the top, your calves are shaking; you look down just to see your friends slowly walking up.
You take a deep breath in and shout fully from your overworked lungs
“Mazzletov” and throw yourself on your side to roll back down like a child
Everything blurs and spins, but you feel invigorated, inspired, and alive.
The smell of jasmine is everywhere as you tumble
You reached the bottom of the hill
Dizzy, but uplifted; you felt like eight years old again, even if you are over thirty."