golden leaves tumbling—
empty clearing alive with
dancers on the breeze
We meet on the plain not far from the cliff. We talk a bit. She wants to walk with me, but I say I have to go.
I meet her there again a few years later. She was waiting for me. We talk some more. We start walking. She tells me she did walk with others while hoping for my return, but she never got too close to the edge.
Walking the edge between friendship and love with her is exhilarating. It’s beautiful. It’s scary. It’s dangerous. It’s exciting. Not knowing if one of us or both will fall. Not knowing what will happen if we do. Will we crash or fly?
Then lazy gliding to the valley below.
We settle. And now we’re setting our little explorers on their own paths, to find their own adventures. We’re thrilled and worried. A bit scared, too.
Then we remember that we were explorers too, once.
He squatted in an old abandoned granary. It looked like a dozen giant cement toilet paper rolls, about 7 storeys high, stood up side by side. A corrugated-sheet-metal shed perched on top. The shed was as rusted as the metal staircase leading up to it. In winter, he had to patch the holes in the wall to get a small reprieve from the wind, but the stairs held his weight without bucking.
The only color on the grey and rust structure were the sun bleached graffiti at ground level and along the top. Artists and troublemakers used to climb up here for the view, the privacy, and a canvas to leave their mark on the cityscape.
He hadn’t left his mark, but he was the only one still climbing the rusting stairs.