Letting Go

I thought it would be silent, but the wind roars in my ears.  My hair streams behind me, like a model at a photo-shoot.  My clothing flaps noisily and I marvel at how cold I feel.  I didn’t expect it to be this chilly in the middle of summer.

People jump out of planes and off buildings for a thrill, but I feel calm and at peace.  I wonder if their rush comes from their gamble of safety.  Are they concerned their parachute won’t open?  Do they think they’re plummeting to their death?  Is that where the thrill comes from?  Fear?  I don’t understand why they would be drawn to this, when they don’t feel as I do.

I don’t worry about whether my chute will open, or if some harm will come to me.  My eyes are open, figuratively speaking, because right now my eyes are screwed tightly shut.  The wind is hurting them, as I plunge toward the ground.

I open them now, because I need to see.  I don’t have goggles.  I don’t have those baggy onesies that the professionals wear.  I don’t have a parachute.

The ground rushes up faster than I expected, and my last thought is one of surprise.


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