Thursday, 18 August 2016

#whimword - catch

If I fall, will you catch me?

I stand on the edge, wind whipping at my hair, making it stream out behind me in tendrils. I close my eyes, enjoying the breeze against my skin. Up here the wind is strong, powerful, and it makes me feel the same.

It is a very long way down from here.

Looking up I see the countryside stretch out for miles, languid against the horizon. There is nothing here but pure, untouched nature; rocks and trees and stream unsullied by human hands. I hear the cawing of birds and the roar of what might be a bear.

There's no traffic, no pollution, no constant press of humanity and machinery that there is in the city. Out here there is freedom, and my heart soars.

Out here I can think. I can breathe.

The air tastes sweet on my tongue, cool and fresh like I've never really known. I can smell the pine forest, the tang of resin and needle. It is so much better than the synthetic stuff they put in car air fresheners or cleaning products.

This is where I belong, not among a forest of steel and glass, where the air chokes and burns.

I spread my arms out wide, trying to catch as much of the wind as possible. It buffets and blows, trying to knock me off my feet but never quite succeeding. I feel supported rather than precarious.

If I fall would you catch me?

It would be so easy to let go, give myself to this land and forget about my life back in the city. All it would take would be a slight shift in weight, all I'd need to do is lean forward just a bit and then I would be free. The urge itches in the back of my mind.

I want it more than anything.

The sun begins to set, crawling inexorably down the sky to where blue meets green, setting the forest on fire with reds and golds. The temperature dropped along with the sun, and by the time the sun has dipped below the horizon and the world is lit beautifully from below it is quite chilly. The wind is still strong, still cool.

Still calling me.

Would it be so bad to stop fighting? To give in to the itch in my brain, the part of me that wants to fly?

There's no guarantee I'll be caught if I let myself fall. No guarantee at all. It's a risk, but what is life without a little risk?

I have to trust, have to have faith; in the wind, in the rightness of this, in myself. Above all I have to have faith in myself.

I take a deep breath, straightening my spine as the twilight air fills my lungs. I shift my weight, fling my arms out wide and let
myself go.

I grin; this is meant to be.

Air rushes past me as I fall and then...

I fly.

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