A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

She teeters on the precipice,

Looking out over the valley of her vulnerabilities.

Even from here she can see beauty,

But also those uncharted areas –

What could lurk beneath the canopy

Of that copse in the northern corner?

Is that even the north?

Her sense of direction is as confused

As a compass beside a giant magnet.

She thought she knew the way.

Even now, with the destruction of the barricades,

She looks upwards over the cliff face,

And considers where might be the footholds

That lead back up to somewhere she would label safe.

Safe because it is known.

Safe because it is controlled.

As controlled as it can be.

By her.

Safe because she knows each nook and cranny like the back of her hand.

She looks at her hands.

Does she even know them all that well?

Her attention is drawn to a sound rising from the mists below,

Like a siren call,

Reaching into her depths and drawing her out,

And simultaneously she wishes both to fight it with every ounce of strength left in her body,

And to surrender and jump,

Taking a chance on its promises.

There is only one thing she knows for certain on this ledge,

And that is that she cannot stay here.

She must choose, either the retreat or the leap,

The cold, rocky known

Or – wait, is that a glade of bluebells?

She would almost swear she can smell them.

She closes her eyes and wonders how long she could balance here,

How long will the proprioception hold her up without the input of visual stimuli?

She leans into the pull of the scents and the sounds, almost willing herself just to fall

So that the decision isn’t even hers to make.

Her eyes snap open – no!

This must be a choice.

She appraises the rocks again, then searches the base of the valley for a landing space.

There – the largest pile of autumn leaves,

That must have been raked up just for her –

Did someone know she was coming?

Here goes.

She

Dives

Into

The

Crunch

And is surprised by the softness of the landing.

And once again she catches herself looking back,

Up the cliffs,

Considering if it really is too late to negotiate retreat.

But then the waft of bluebells.

She has a valley to explore.