With wide eyed wonderment

we fly through the mountains

threading the eye of the storm.

Clouds dive for cover

changing colour

like hopeful chameleons.

Propellors strain against the wind

creaking

as we grip the arm rests.

Hears beat faster

at the danger

at the sheer beauty

at the power of nature

to make you love something

that could kill you.

I wonder about the baby crying

and if he was going to anyway

and the old man behind me

moaning about the luke warm coffee

and it terrifies me that his may be

the last voice I hear.

I stand upon the precipice

listening to the silence

smelling the indifference

seeing no reason to step back.

I open up amidst the heckles

clinking glasses and a desire

to be entertained.

They laugh

eventually

and I smile inside

at the things that scare us half to death.

To be judged by others

who are not peers

but mere guilty bystanders.

Sad.

Edgey performance.

 

© Ash Cheyne 2017

Daily Word Prompt – Precipice