I Hate These Walls
By J. MUNN

I hate these walls.
They speak to me.
Dark. Looming. Haunting.
I obsess. Or am I possessed?

I am forever searching. Waiting for the cliff that will satisfy my craving.

It needs to be steep. It needs to have deep snow. It needs to scare the living hell out of my family and friends. Most of all, it needs to be big.

Each specimen is carefully analyzed. A mental photograph is taken. All the angles are slowly considered. Sometimes it takes weeks for the conditions to be just right.

Sometimes the conditions are perfect upon first glance. Is that love at first sight? Or is it blind faith?

With each cliff I drop, a bigger, more daunting piece of rock instantly takes its place in my mental order.

With each cliff I drop, the bigger rock walls in my order instantly appear smaller.

I wake at night. Short of breath. Heart racing. They are in my dreams. Is it anxiety? Or is it anticipation?

I fall asleep with thoughts of tomorrow's drop. I wake in the morning, sometimes unable to converse, the day's task is close at hand.

I feel alone, especially when standing at the top. People will be there when it's over. There will be high-fives and cheers. But here on the edge, I am alone.

What if crash? What if I land on rock? What if I clip my ski before I reach the take-off? What if I'm injured? What if I die?

Am I crazy?

The soft cushion of powder will guide my free-falling form back to the earth. The white, perfect snow is the contrast.

I will stomp the landing today. I will be completely free of my burden. The monkey off my back. My every molecule will be flooded with pleasure.

And then it will happen, as I ski away. Sometimes while I'm still gazing at the conquered rock. Soon, it will be as if the day's event did not even happen. My very being will be cosumed by the thought. The next one has taken hold.

I hate these walls.
They speak to me.



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