The Cliff

With morning comes mistfall

I paused to catch my breath. The howling wind swirled over the volcanic rock face stringing numbing mist in thin wisps like cobweb over the stone. Every muscle in my body ached and yet the tension in my limbs remained, trembling on the edge of control.

The cliff loomed above, a cruel overhang, sharp black against the pale fog. Below me lay only the shroud of darkness. I knew that I had picked a foolish route to climb, yet a stubborn anger refused to let me alter my course.

I had been careless too, dashing my hands on outcrops as jagged as shattered glass. Although I tore my clothes to provide makeshift padding and bandage, blood still trickled down my forearms, congealing in the grime and sweat.

For as long as I could remember I had defied gravity, propelled upward by the dream of the summit, until a simple realization stopped me. There was no summit.

I cried then, ice in my lashes. What difference could it make if I fell now? Why struggle upward against the ache, against the pain, against the relentless rock, when at last, in the end, I knew I must fall?

I looked down. The mist that swirled in the darkness below offered only oblivion. I could let go. I could tuck my hands into the warmth of my armpits and fall back into open air. I could almost feel the release.

I jolted in panic, my hands gripping tight, my stomach in my throat. For a moment I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing. Fear held me to the rock. The terror of the drop overcame any rational motivation.

I looked up. The cliff offered nothing. No threat, no taunt, no encouragement. How long could I cling like moss on the stone before my grip failed me?

Just then, a little shard of blue caught my eye, bobbing in the wind above the lip of the overhang. Through the mist I could make out a tiny, ice blue flower, bowed by the wind. The scrap of color provided a landmark if nothing more.

I pried a stiff hand from the rock, fingers feeling for a higher hold. I hooked in and took the weight, straining the tendons in my arm, stabbing knives into my shoulder, releasing my legs to find a new foothold.

I would climb at least as far as that flower.

Reviews

[The Nude Writer]

Love it! :) I wend clif jumping once.. Biggest thrill ever! :)
This poem was so well written :)

[gcp]

aww thanks :)

Cliff jumping is amazing - always got to find a higher cliff - a smaller pool - a deeper dive ;)

[The Nude Writer]

Haha.. I was the only one to not get injured. It was maybe a 60 foot cliff and nobody knew how to "land"

[gcp]

D'oh. Some of the others should have started with a smaller drop? ;) Water can be surprisingly solid, can't it? I've destroyed plenty of shorts and shirts by hitting the water hard.

[The Nude Writer]

hehe :) My sandals ripped in half =P But I felt amazing all week after :) Such a rush

[gcp]

:D Totally worth it.

[char]

Awesome metaphor. I actually felt encouragement from this :)

[gcp]

aww thanks - good to find encouragement where you can :) Thanks for reading :)

[Karl Woof Junior]

shifty

[Samuel Dickens]

Excellent. I hung there as well, my mind sifting through possibilities, outcomes and reasons. The flower--was it put there for a reason?

[gcp]

Aww thanks :)

I figure people can ascribe reasons to the growing of flowers if they choose, but nature is at heart a dictatorship - flowers will grow whether or not we find a reason.

[KurKota]

Fantastic job of describing biting fear ! Loved it ! You nailed it on this one, lady. Always look for that little blue flower...... that's life, and you described it fantastically !

[gcp]

aww thanks - glad you liked it :)

[KurKota]

You are very welcome..... Thank you for writing this and sharing with us.

[Marie]

People fight to go on, even when there's absolutely no point.

[gcp]

While others fold at the first sign of trouble.

Thanks for reading :)