Transitory.

 (Originally written on March 4, 2012)

I am running down a path.

Pmf. Pmf. Pmf.

My shoes echo one another, each pining for the last word

before they are silenced by my weariness.

This desert landscape is a familiar one

and I have gladly followed this path for many miles.

Vast and sparse, yet exceedingly lovely.

The muted browns and blues hint at a hidden beauty

and my soul sighs contentedly.

I belong here. 

And yet.

Amidst the tranquility, my soul knows. 

It senses the invisible, inevitable change that has been slowly advancing

on this unassuming setting.

The wind, silent and dormant at first, begins to disturb what little vegetation there is.

The dust scurries through the sky,

unaware and powerless of where it will land.

Twilight descends and time stops abruptly.

The air becomes thick as electricity builds, reverberating invisibly

against my skin.

The land has become alive, yet tensely so, held in suspension 

of what is and what is to come.

The silence is magnified and the atmosphere reaches a frenzied chaos,

becoming a cacophonous crescendo of anticipation.

I cannot take it anymore. 

My pace quickens and I am no longer aware of anything except

what lies before, of which I am powerless to control.

Yet, in my mortality, I am not scared.

Only curious. 

And flustered in my claustrophobia of the wait.

As the silent clamor builds, I become even more wrestless.

Something needs to happen. 

The road disappears from my feet and I am left directionless,

but I keep running. 

Dead ahead.

And finally, 

a line against the horizon.

 I sprint towards it.

The wind howls.

The air crackles.

The atmospheric pressure builds.

Pmf. Pmf. Pmf. Pmf.

Double-time now.

The line draws near, revealing the end of the desert.

Almost. There.

Pmf. Pmf. Pmf. Pmf. 

I take my last step and launch myself off the cliff, into the air.

Alas, there is peace.

.

.

.

.

.

But now I am falling.