Love of the wind (attempt no.2 - prose)

All I can think of doing is jumping.
No. Not jumping. Flight.
My final flight.
Once more...

There is a cliff before me. I know this, and yet it has nothing at all to do with the joy I experience. I am simultaneously chilled and heated, waning desert sun breaking through the clouds and trees and solid walls of wind to warm my face in a million different ways, like a million sunrises, all passing in a fraction of a second.

There is a call as I slide toward the edge, one of panic, but it is so far away...

My body instinctively tenses and tries to pull back at the last nanosecond but it is far too late, and I smile as I subconsciously cede the battle to gravity. And suddenly, I am facing the way I always should have been facing, an immense wall growing larger and larger on the far side of the plane I am suddenly accelerating forth on.

And the wind...

Everything is streamlined in those few moments, my hair whipping back from my face like a teardrop, my clothes pressing against my body as they strive to deny me. I am plunging through an ocean towards its dark bottom, and I am the waters' only inhabitant.

As I think this, I seem to slow, but the immense caress of the wind abates not







(********)(*)(*098)()&$#Q$^!346!@#^12457




Screw this, I'm too tired to write now