Hang Your Hopes From Trees

I dig my toes into the rocky incline. A skiff of gravel skitters down, tumbling endlessly, I cannot hear where it lands. The bottom is far below. Looking down, I can see clouds hovering underneath me. I am high enough that the place where I began isn’t visible, it hides beneath a cover of storm clouds, grey and swirling. Up here, as I pull myself further up, the sun shines upon my shoulders. The sky is a brilliant blue, with white cotton candy clouds. I keep climbing, distancing myself from the stormy ground below. I don’t know what the plateau above looks like, but I long for flat ground and stable footing. I reach up and grasp at a root emerging from the rock.

It snaps.

Suddenly, I am scrambling, rocks and dirt begin to funnel down around me, I slide, scraping my skin, dust grinding into my wounds. I…

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