Underfoot and disappearing
Fingers dig deeper;
Holding hope in
A friend and I climb a travelator to a rooftop lookout, exploring and encouraged by views of snow-capped mountain peaks, familiar peaks, their beauty always eases me and awes me.
I run towards the lookout, along a thin ledge I’ve walked so many times before. I used to know this ground. Half way there I look down. The sandy, snowy ledge has dropped away ahead of me. I cant go forward. I swivel. The sandy snowy ledge has dropped away behind me. I cant go backwards.
A chunk of the wall I lean into falls away; I look down to watch it plummet.
Don’t look down
My arms have never been my strongest asset. I’ve relied on my legs to stand me up, not my arms to pull me. Now the ledge and the wall I cling to make their texture known – firm, but yet it’s sand; crumbling: impermanence surrounds me.
I look up
My fingers find ledges which all need testing, a small curve on an overhang above me seems to block me from the flat mountain top, keeping me from solid ground. I can see that is where I need to be, above me, if I can lurch my entire body up and over the overhang.
I will need to rely on my arms
I will have one chance at it
I will need to not look down
Crumbling sand will need to hold me
These unfamiliar textures. Distrust sits in my stomach. Safety is so close. I don’t have long to think. More sand falls to the sea. Up and over is the only option. Others are busy, distracted. I have only me.
My biceps must propel me; upwards; against gravity
I take a breath
I must trust in me
Up and over