The Cliff


She stands solitary

alone

but not lonely

at the end of the path

past the trees

at a clearing,

the tips of her toes

perched at the edge

of the cliff

loose rocks surround

her bare feet

the wind is gusting

whipping her long hair

lashing her face

rain washing over her

mixing with her tears

her dress clinging

to her shivering body

she is numb

she is alive with feeling

she is in turmoil

her arms crossed

hugging herself

not from the cold

or the wet

holding the feelings

to herself

she raises her face

to the heavens

closes her eyes

opens her mouth

tastes the rain

swallows the nourishment

of the earth

gaining strength from it

feeling the wetness

on her face

trickling down her neck

running between her breasts

raising her hands

to her face

she wipes the water away

futilely

she is weak

she is troubled

she is dangerous

looking over the cliff

down the face

the sea crashes against

jagged rocks

sending spray toward her

she leans forward

a bit

her feet unsteady

her legs weak

the wind strong

closing her eyes

swaying

teetering

on the brink

a crow sounds in

the trees behind her

snapping her out of

the reverie

steadying herself

she turns slowly

checks behind her

clouds making the path

dark

obscured

hazy

she does not need to see

she knows from where

she has come

to her left is a path

gravel

unsteady

winding

to her right is a path

paved

smooth

straight

the end of either

is not in sight

they are continuous

each

she turns back to the cliff

desperation

despair

despondency

she sinks to her knees

hands cover her face

weeping

sobbing

shaking

she knows she cannot

stay here

to do so would be

certain death

she must move

this she knows

the indecision is

overwhelming

frightening

terrifying

she cannot go back

she cannot go forward

she

must

choose

just within her reach

just before her

an oddly shaped stone

feeling it between her fingers

rolling it in her hands

touching it to her lips

clutching it to her chest

grasping it firmly in one hand

it fits perfectly

molded to the contours

within its confines

it is alive

it gives her more strength

to the side of her

a gnarled branch

worn smooth from time

and elements

slowly running her fingers

across its length

feeling the ageless beauty

firmly grasping it in her hand

she uses it for support

as she raises herself

from the earth

stone in hand

branch for support

she has made her

decision

she takes a few

tentative steps

down her chosen path

hesitating

faltering

feeling the strength

of the elements

around her

within her

of her

she heads

purposefully

confidently

fearlessly

down

the

chosen

path.

Copyright ©1998 Joy A. Jensen