The Narrows
I stand at a waypoint many miles beyond where I entered the cleft in the rocks. The yellow-green of old bruises mingles with the purple of new across my arms and shoulders. Mementos of my last encounter with those who dance on the cliff high above me. This stretch of the passage is especially tricky, smooth granite stones laying loose atop jagged shards of obsidian. I am exhausted. These past miles have turned my strength to naught but frayed threads. Ahead I see the sun. Might it be a place where the cliffs loom not over me, but let light stream down? This is my hope. It's been long since I've dared to allow myself rest. Mayhaps there will be others who travel this path I can stretch out beside! I think again of the many knotted ropes along the way and blink back. Those above cavort along paths worn smooth by myriad feet. But they ignore the black wind coming, ignoring the safety found below. For though the mountains menace and the thorny underbrush tears at me, I am protect