Razor Sharp Sandstone

dreams of turning back.
walking an hour and a half, getting cliffed out
almost doing it
quitting
no
the track is lost

the uneven sandstone flys underneath me
the uneven ground working every single muscle in my feet, calves, and thighs

one benefit of my earlier folly is, i got to see the path to come
a hairline in the rapidly deteriorating cliff side
with an undoubtable path carved in it
it terrified me
and now here i was, at the start of the cliff band trail
each footstep razor thin
outside edge of my left foot to higher ground
outside edge of my right foot to the canyon floor
i couldn’t take a single look away from the path in front of me
because all it was
was down down down
slippery sandstone and unconglomerated slopes

often
i would sheepishly search for another way.
an easier way
a safer way
before succumbing to the only path there was
where a thin coat of lubricating sand laid over angled stone.
gaps in solid ground forced me to jump over cascading gulleys
executing a ninja like 4 step sequence
to get to safer ground
i leap and yell like a warrior
and accidentally stepped on a loose rock
sending it careening off the 2 hundred foot cliff
hearing only the initial THWACK before its body and its sound disappear into the penetrating silence

for aside from the raven, and the occasional rabbit
i am deeply alone here
the only evidence of hikers past
is the lack of cryptobiotic soil crust
from where their shoes laid
a faint imprint in a sea of living black soil
there are no fresh tracks anymore
too old to withstand the test of snow and wind
and so i tell myself

forge new tracks!
put your phone away
stop writing and start hiking!

my legs are aching, slowing pace no matter how loud i say “HIYAH”
i look up and see, the same spot i was all those hours ago
only 20 terrible feet above me
impossibly overhanging, impossible to touch
unless i grew wings

step hard
rock slide
move my foot out of the way at the last second
keep going
down down down