She stood there upon the precipice, toes right on the edge,
with eyes that stared into the darkness of the chasm. All
it would take would be one tiny step, bring an end to the
pain that grows and set her spirit free.

She wonders, would she grow wings? If only she could
fly, perhaps then she could leave all this anguish behind!

But, alas, that is merely nothing more than a childish dream.

The arroyo beckons now, with soothing winds that
promise never to gale. Warm currents to soar upon,
inviting the soul to tarry long upon them.

Within the rift there comes a howl, one of darkness,
one of peace. It calls forth, urging her to step forward,
take that ever leap of faith.

Back over her shoulder she looks, listening to the winds
that ball behind her. Windswept sands no longer show
her being there, gone are the tracks she'd left behind.
No one would know she'd been here, or fallen into the
great rift below.

The arroyo cries out to her ... NOW! Leave the past
behind you and cast aside that mortal coil you have
come to despise so. Let me wrap my windy arms
around you, warm your skin and drown your sorrow.

This leaves her to wonder, if she stepped forward,
would there be anything left behind in rememberance ...

Hard to say, but the arroyo beckons loudly now ...

(c) 2003 A. Riddle