The edge of the cliff is a slow curve, not a sharp drop off. I have a choice to make—to turn back, or to fall. I believe that I will be caught. I do, I do believe…no I don't. I'm terrified that I will hit the bottom and break into a thousand pieces. I realize, hysterically, that I'm laughing.
The winds are all pushing me, screaming my name in the most horrible voices, trying to get me to jump over the edge and tumble down the slope. I'm still not sure, though, and I hang back away from the edge, clinging to a tree as my lifeline. If I turn and run away from the cliff, I know that I can go back to where I'll be safe forever, safe and smothered…and so alone, surrounded by people…but still safe.
Or I could take a chance. I could end up at the bottom of this mountain, broken and bruised, lifeless and never to rise to my feet again…or I could take flight on the wings of this cruel wind, use it to my advantage, tame it and control it and fly far away to something new.
My feet are lifting off the ground in a giant leap before I know what I'm doing. The wind carries me a few feet, and for a moment I think I've found what I'm looking for: a way out. Then I realize that the ground is much to close—what's going on?? I scream.
Humans weren't meant to fly.