Biting Horizon
Short Story by Heather Choate

“We become sad in the first place when we have nothing stirring to do.”
-Herman Melville

I refuse to be sad, so I leave my brown living room and head down I-44 in my silver Toyota, such an un-descript car, to the canyons. I pull into an aspen-shaded parking space under the looming height of limestone cliffs. The sunlight is peaking over the upper ridge; bright tangerine orange and blush pink clouds whip at the alpine sky.

I grab an Arrowhead water bottle, and shove it into my pant pocket, along with my car keys. I don’t bother to lock the doors, no need to. I barely feel the backpack on my shoulders. The gravel under my feet moans in protest to the weight; that, and the distant chirp of small birds, is the only sound heard. Golden aspen leaves twinkle like Christmas lights in the early morning light. Christmas in early fall, that’s different.

The gravel lot gives way to a thin earthen path. I follow it into the trees. The crisp air bites at my nostrils and throat, but soon my body is warm, blood pumping rhythmically in my veins, muscles. I don’t think about anything but moving up the mountain. No more sadness.

The path dips into a ravine and twists in steep switch backs. I’m panting hard, my lungs expanding for more oxygen. A tingly burn moves through my calves as they carry me up the mountainside. I dab at cool tiny drops of sweat on my forehead with my sleeve. The top isn’t far; streams of sunshine light my head every now and then through the tree limbs, like I’m bobbing in a sea of leaves and branches.

I need to get as high as I can. 10,000 ft should do. I check the altimeter on my wrist watch. 9,894. Just a little more. Tiny streamlets of pure Rocky Mountain water gurgle across my path and down to the serpentine river below. Tiny birds twitter out their last songs of the season above me. Soon it will be too cold to hear their jovial little spirits. I see the white tail of a deer flit into the denser forest. The deer won’t be seen much either, once these amber aspen leaves have fallen, and frost submerges every rock and blade and limb with its frosty fingers. Only the mountain goats will prod on through the deep drifts of snow like it were powdered sugar.

I reach a massive outcropping of granite boulders that are relatively smooth on top. I scamper up the stone. The boulders stand as a precipice overlooking a large swooping bowl-shaped valley. Through two goliath pines I make out the river cutting its way sharply into the valley until it rests in a pristine lake nestled deep into the wilderness.

My numb fingertips unscrew the plastic water bottle cap. I chug the contents in less than twenty seconds and discard the empty bottle by putting it back in my pocket. Though the exertion of the vertical climb is over, my heart rate picks up for a different reason: a tiny rush of anticipation; a stirring.

I traverse the wide gray rock until my feet are inches from the edge. The cliff descends vertically down over three thousand feet. Tiny pebbles fall over the rim down, down into space. The trees and rocks are minuscule so far below.

The biting horizon goes on forever. Distant white capped mountain peaks signal to me like flashing lighthouses in the breaking sun. Sweeping Cyrus clouds brush across the atmosphere like paint strokes from a master artist. The world is so calm here, just a round planet of earth and trees spinning in a serene universe.

But the sheer drop off before me, takes my mind off all of that now as I look back down. A second surge of adrenaline creeps its way into my cooling body; another emotive moment. I need to do this while I’m still warm, while I can still move at all. I take a deep breath, the air bitter and clean; an interesting combination. My lungs protest each inhale but I keep breathing. Just keep breathing. The vapors from my mouth crystallize in the air before me.

I rub my hands against my jacket. It’s now. I slide my right foot further a few more inches, until the tip is over the cliff lip, hanging suspended into space. That’s all the taste I need now. I step back with my right foot first, then my left.

I swing both arms back behind me, using the momentum to propel my body forward. In two leaps, I am off the mountain and falling through the air. I keep my arms out wide and close my eyes, feeling the violent rush of iced wind slam into my skin.
Having cleared the cliff side by more than a yard, my body drops freely without slamming into the jagged rocks. This is what I wanted: a clean fall, smooth. My body is perpendicular to the ground now, I can almost feel the trees and rocks beneath rushing up to great me, to take me into their arms and hold me there.

One second. Two. Five. Gravity has complete hold of me. I stretch my fingers out wide into the open air. The solid valley floor is coming up faster. This is it.
Instinctively, I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut. I quickly stretch my left arm back and pull hard. The cord responds and within seconds, I am shot back upwards into the sky with a heaving blast.
The jolt shakes every limb and joint, but it passes quickly. Like a ship tossed hazardly by the sea and now cradled in calm waters, I am shocked by how slow and gentle my body moves through the air now. Like a lost feather, I drift calmly over the ripping landscape. I inhale deeply, some of the shock fizzing out of my nerve endings.

A minute passes. I feel like an eagle, an angel, escaping both gravity and death by sweeping high ‘ore the earth. Incredible. Seconds feel like years, years that passed me to quickly in unhappiness. Finally getting my time back. I laugh. Laugh! The sound is strange and distorted in my dry, hoarse throat and that makes me laugh harder.

I laugh as my tiny body defeats the laws of gravity and human destiny by flying over the tree tops and rivers. I watch my thin shadow reflected in the lake below. I wonder if the fish can see me. What a story they would have to tell their neighbors!
Soaring on, I see the wide green space beyond the trees. In the distance, tiny moving brown figures. Cows. The frost has melted in the warming sunrays and the field is lush and green. Perfect.

My body drifts over the meadow and slows, graciously returning me back to earth. My time in the heavens has ended. I put my feet out and run as they hit the ground. I could stop now, but with my shoot depleted and dragging behind me, I keep running. I run and run across my planet of earth and trees. The blood, the life pumping within me. I have found it, my stirring.

© Heather Choate 2008