To watch from below,
life expanding in every direction.
I walk down a path of stone and soil,
placid in comparison to the trees around me.
I sit upon a stump, the wood colored with
darkened stains like abstract art of the gods.
I star out at the picture,
unbroken,
and at its base, so vast, many arms
a willow;
wrapped and woven around its trunk would not
touch on either side.
Beyond the old willow, far distance mountains
dressed decidedly as lingering fog, lay cluttered in powdered blue peaks along the horizon.
I stood up, and approached the old
drawbridge, the metal rusted red on blue
railings. I smiled up at this miracle, where the
hands of Man and Mother Nature clasp
in an embrace of grace and beauty,
and passed beneath it.
It was then I came upon the cliff,
which drew up in a boast and dropped in a dare.
The ferns, in their envy, stretched to reach as high
as the speckled rocks that towered against a
painted, sunset sky.
I pressed my toes to the cut and shrapnel of the
cliff, and descended, a leap if faith. For it is said, 'When a man jumps from a cliff, he could fall...or he could fly.'