Eaglecrest
I remember slipping from the chair and into the face of the mountain where the wind was bright and breath shallow. Everything here was blue and white and fell away not in increments but immediacy. Right there was suspended in a stillness that still echoes like a sunspot, sliding away just as I reach to touch it.
The chill was crisp and whole there. Beyond a sense of cold into a tangible else, so full as to be indescernible from heat.
I remember little else but contrast, sun and shadow in a duel of sharp edges and slopes, or the silence cut fine against an empty sky. If I have ever been alive it was then, turning to face the drop with an incadescent fear, and falling without restraint.
The chill was crisp and whole there. Beyond a sense of cold into a tangible else, so full as to be indescernible from heat.
I remember little else but contrast, sun and shadow in a duel of sharp edges and slopes, or the silence cut fine against an empty sky. If I have ever been alive it was then, turning to face the drop with an incadescent fear, and falling without restraint.