He had the power to rise and stand up, should he do that? (He did that.) He had the power to brush the twigs and dust and grass from his body and hair, should he do that? (He did that.) He had not the power, on the other hand, to repair the hole he’d discovered in his sweater, should that bother him? (But why should that bother him when it had been there a while. And why have the power to do what wasn’t necessary?)
He had the power to put one foot forward, then the other foot, the power to climb and the power to clamber and the power to ascend this whole hill if need be. He had the power to avoid the trees in his path, not running into them — he should exercise that power. He had the power to step over the roots that would trip him and the holes and pits that might cause him to fall or stumble — let him exercise these powers as well. He had the power to give up or to no to; the power to step back when things got complicated or frustrating, then start again once he’d recovered his breath, once calm had been restored, when he saw clearly again he had the power to advance: to put one foot forward, then another, making progress again and again, stride after stride toward progress and success (though perhaps now he was taking things a bit far, perhaps he was not quite as all-powerful as that).
He, all powerful Summs, moved this branch away from his face. He, all powerful Summs, side-stepped a projecting stone. He, all powerful Summs, swatted away (though gently) a stringing insect without fear. When he confronted a sudden steep acclivity, he thought what to do, then went around where it wasn’t so steep. Thus did Summs, almost unseemly in his awful strength, ascend the woody hill.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 