A Pome a Day for a Year

I am falling down a hill.
I am in a roly-poly.
I am a circle, revolving, dropping.
I am bounce, bounce, bounding.
I am careening and kerfuffling.
I am soaring via occasional land ramps.
I am oofing and gasping.
I am flailing with abandon.
I am surprised at the height of the hill.
I am on the 20th minute of falling.
I am not seeing any end to this.
I am apparently anti-Sisyphus.
I am zooming, head over heels.
I am unable to see where I started.
I am blitzing through shrubs.
I am questioning and contemplating.
I am narrowly missing tree trunks.
I am accepting.
I am calm.
I am serene.
I am watching green fields and blue skies pass.
I am smashing ever onwards.
I am descending, bruised and battered.
I am plunging and I am tired.
I am wondering if this even is a hill.