Wuthering
Before it all changes, you stand with
the ground squarely between your
feet. Exactly as it has always been.
You have no questions. You barely
notice your own knowledge. You
just know. With the kind of crisp,
untrammelled certainty you forget
could ever have edges. What you
know, I’m not sure, perhaps you
couldn’t tell me yourself. But
then, too softly to even
notice at first, there’s
a judder. Your path
narrows, you
reach the
precipice.
Reach
this
edge.
What next?
