I stare out, alone, over a vast ethereal landscape. My toes curl over the grains of sand and pebbles at the Edge. In fact, I am “hanging ten”. I close my eyes, face outstretched toward the golden sun. The blue breezes dances through my hair and I lift my arms, fingers outstretched, glorying in the energy around me. Purple clouds fill the air, and roll past the sun. I lower my arms, open my eyes. The friendly winds have moved on, and their charged brothers dance in behind them, twirling and spinning, each more energetic than the last, snatching at the branches and the leaves, carrying loose debris past my feet into the abyss in front of me. I watch the dust, twigs, leaves, and pebbles plummet. I lift my leg, and place my foot on top of a small boulder next to me. Suddenly I am transported away: I am a proud captain surveying the raucous seas at the prow of his magnificent vessel. I become Alexander, atop the Cappadocian Mountains, surveying the lands my armies will conquer.
I stare across my cloud-filled abyss: poking through the near mists, a sharp ridge-line juts into view. Sparsely dotting the stony back of the recumbent giant, the silhouettes of what can only be the hardiest of trees shake in the breathy currents, as if a deep seated snore softly echoes from below the mists. To the left, I spy a small pinnacle that stops abruptly only a few feet taller than the ledge I am perched upon. Of course, it could merely be an illusion in the fogs.
There is something vaguely eternal in the dense pall, billowing inward – drowning the low-lying areas. It’s as if some great Being erased all traces of existence beneath the nimbus mist below and around me. The sounds of nature are muffled; suffocated beneath the heavy grey pillow. All I hear is my own nasal sighs, and the polyphonic winds whisping past the cedars and oaks, and howling around the granite craig. I stand, undaunted and unmoved.
In the distance, the mountains arch out of the haze, defying anything or anyone’s attempt to hide their bold faces as they resolutely join earth and sky in timeless bond. They cut through the fog, refusing to be ignored or smothered. A falcon screams as it plummets into the mist, in search of breakfast.
Above, the nimbus clouds scud across the sky, unconcerned with the defiance and audaciousness of the mountains, bluffs, and ridges their younger brothers attempted to mask. In their own way, some have already won for they soar above the highest mountains, while others never elevate themselves past the point of merely adorning the bold ascents, vaguely resembling an arctic fox boa.
This Operatic drama of clashing titans unfolds before me: The Airs and Winds, Mists and Clouds versus the Boulders and Cliffs, Ridges and Mountains; the Cavalry swooping past the immutable Legions. I resolutely stand perched upon my spire: below the skies, above the lands. My fierce gaze absorbs the battle’s impasse as the cacophony swells, both sides deadlocked in their feverish pitch. My nostrils flare and chest swells with an indomitable and dauntless spirit; an inflammation of victory and power in what can only be called the glory of the sublime.
I stare out, alone, over this vast ethereal landscape. My toes curl over the pebbles at the Edge.