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The Precipice

I could almost see my destiny, but theirs was in full view.

By Solachi VozPublished 7 years ago 3 min read
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It was colder than I had expected.

The wind was welcome, but became icy quite rapidly. The sweat that covered each layer of my clothing stuck to my glistening skin, growing colder with every gust of mountain breeze. There was no refuge from the sting. The irregular shapes of perspiration had formed a splotchy pattern on my zip-up hoodie. Darker patches of black grew steadily, staining my hoodie like lakes amidst an arid landscape. I opened my mouth to taste the air, but it punished me by taking my breath away. The blood inside my teeth sent shockwaves through my jaw, corroborating the obvious: fall was here. As my muscles began to relax, my pulse slowed. There was a different, louder crunch beneath my feet, as I made my way to the precipice. The trees were changing, and there were so many of them. They were different here. In time, we would see which ones were deciduous, and which ones will live forever. After all, time reveals everything.

The pines betrayed the direction of the Pacific draft that blanketed the massive hillside, like little tufts of hair on an uneven scalp. Sitting on the railing, I was amazed at what elevation allowed the human eye to perceive. I was an equal with the birds; our height above humanity made everything ubiquitous. From our perch, we were undisturbed, but unfortunately, not for long. A few students in a nearby car rudely made their presence known, and my brief company with my winged compatriots was interrupted, never to return. The teen's ignorance of the tender moment tempted me to anger, but I didn’t allow myself to give in. I didn't acknowledge them, while they vied for my attention through a darkly tinted Suburban to my right. I refused to allow their incessant cajoling to disturb the serenity of the moment; one that taken over 2.5 hours and 587 kCal to earn.

As my brain began to cancel out their immaturity, our eyes rested on the highway below. The cars, the people in them. Not only were they incredibly minute, they seemed to move much more slowly from this distance; almost reluctantly crawling along the pavement, instead of traveling at the breakneck 75-85 mph (at which we could assume) they cruised. I wondered if they looked up and felt us watching. If they knew their destinations. I realized we could see around the bends and curves of the interstate before they could. Our eyes could span in seconds what took them minutes to see. If danger was imminent, we could not warn them; the only options we had would be to look away, or watch it unfold. Thankfully, we didn't have to do either. Traffic moved along smoothly, idle red blood cells through a healthy synthetic artery.

The clouds overhead hung low, and we watched them intently, waiting for them to spill their secrets to us. Then, it became clear. The secret was rain. Not if it would come, but when; and how much. The smell of moisture was dense in the atmosphere, tugging on my already-soaked attire. They were the Clouds. They would forever be able to suspend themselves over all of us, blessing us with life-sustaining rain while hiding us from the ever-present threat of the sun.

I had seen the city from a height before, but no two heights are the same. I had never seen it from this angle. I couldn’t believe the stark contrast between the city and the town. A hideous beauty, the dichotomy could not be ignored. The quaint and welcoming natural backdrop of the town contrasted immensely from the industrial business of the city, an intangible curtain that we were allowed to see past, through, and beyond.

The barges made miniscule progress across the water, inching towards the dock as a final ode to their respective voyages across the ocean. I could only imagine what cargo each of them held. How ironic; this state had been populated by a different sort of manifest than the records would ever show for these ships. I could almost see my destiny, but theirs was in full view. I wondered how they stayed afloat. How could a ship weighing six hundred thousand metric tons not sink? Pressure from below was always greater than the surface, perhaps.

Another gust of wind reminded me of my quickly cooling muscles. It was time to commence my retreat. As I bid the view adieu, the return of sensation to my extremities reminded me of my mortality. Rubbing my hands together and zipping my sweater to the nape of my neck, I ignored the nagging pain in my legs and heels and began to walk away. Against my better judgment, I didn't stretch.

My imagination was loose enough.

The Hills.

The Precipice.

solo travel
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About the Creator

Solachi Voz

A young writer. Musicianship, perspective and retrospective thought. Experience life. #Oakland

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