Jasmine: Ascension

“On belay?
Belay on!
Climbing?
Climb on!”

My fingertips grasp at the first of the rocks.
Feet shift into position, ready to begin an unrehearsed dance.
I feel it in my spine as the climb begins.
Toes clinging to the rock through worn shoes,
conforming to the rough shapes nature has wrought.
Knees and elbows turn and twist to allow for impossible reaches.

Clip in ten feet up.
Safety in numbers, one is good but two is better.
My legs slow as the angle increases.
Arms burning from the strength of the stone,
fingers scrape over the glass-like granules,
knees already bruised and bleeding from before
instinctively avoid being thrown into the wall.
Pain is knowledge.

The angle is great now,
feet are for balance.
My life dangles from my own battered fingertips.
The clip is only feet away.
A long reach or a short leap.
I leap.
I clip.
I fall.
I’m saved.

Equipment is your friend,
it helps you conquer the climb,
your enemy.
The rock is neutral.
It doesn’t care if you fall.
Or if you don’t.

Pulling myself further and further,
the edge is imminent, closer and closer.
Yards, then feet, only inches away.
A scream of triumph from beneath me as I crawl over the precipice.
I’m too tired to speak,
too exhausted to reply,
too satisfied to move.