The Day The Wind Died

There something so refreshing about standing on the precipice, a mere stutter away from forever.. She straightened her back, her toes pointed, balanced against the wind tossing her hair and dress. This was her comfort zone. The dizzying angle of the stone face making the drop seem even further than it was; and it was quite a fall. The breeze at this hight was like a constant ocean breath, an exhalation that seemed to begin and end with time itself, which lovingly held her in place as her toes curled around the barren rock and she leaned into it. Adjusting her head, she looked straight down, into the face of eternity. In this place she wondered against the roar if there really were such thing as silence. She thought of the possibility of anyone ever really being alone, past the solace of stone, wind, or water. She smiled, defying her own contemplation. No. There was no such thing as loneliness. The stone would always hold her, the wind would always caress her, and the water would always speak to her. Her hand was her own to hold; her morning smile was the sunrise itself, making the horizon grin brighter than anything else in the world. She needed no one.