Christina’s Writing
 

The Precipice

  I stand on the precipice. I thought I understood my situation. Now I see that this messy experience of my tenuous life calls for drastic measures. Choice: what a chilling situation that can be.

   When I was young, the big beautiful world in front of me, there were no barriers-only magnificent possibilities. Now there are boundless limitations, or at least my brain manages to impose restrictions on my thinking. I’m out of shape and pudgy. I’m too old. I have a hitch in my git-along. Arthritis is invading my once nimble joints. What makes me think I can write? My husband is too occupied. My daughter despondent. Cami was t-boned at a stop sign today. I am out of balance

   I have no life threatening illnesses. I have my wits about me most of the time. I have an insatiable desire to learn and grow. An array of choices are still before  me, yet they seem more daunting than they did in my fresh years.

   I stand on the cliff. The jagged rocks would tear at my flesh, taking away all the frustrations and anxiety. The roiling water, gray with sand, and the pounding waves are deafening. Even the gulls are silenced. My screams would be lost in the pounding drone of the waves.

   I’ll bypass the cliff and take the walkway to the beach. The path is rigid asphalt, black and sandy, the solid railing cold and dependable. The sun warms my face with its’ golden beams. At the end of this pathway, I’ll yield to the warm sand, each grain gently polishing away the wear of life from my feet. The chilly waves will rinse away the ghosts of untold limitation.