On the Edge of the Cliff

Clouds hung in the sky, a shade of indigo that made the last bit of daylight shy away.

She sat on the edge of the cliff, as always, and breathed in. Air flowed smoothly into her lungs. Finally, a place to sit and think.

She had come here many times before over the last ten years of her life. When nothing but nature surrounded her, she could take an objective look at the world of man, and her very small place in it.

The whole earth seemed to shift when her life did. It was as if she couldn't transition to a new stage without dragging every detail of life behind her. What was the point of braving the transition unless something good came of it--not for her sake, but for the sake of something more?

She told herself that everyone wants to live for something outside of themselves. Then, she reminded herself that they actually can. The thing worth loving that much would not exactly be what they expected. It would seem solid and tangible at some times, ephemeral and frustratingly translucent at others.

 Maybe that was why she liked the open air and the scenery so much. She couldn't have thought of anything so beautiful if she were the greatest artist in the world. There was something outside her, greater than her, encompassing her whether or not she could imagine a better life than the one she lived now.

The answer to "why am I here?" was ephemeral and frustratingly translucent at the moment, but she had seen the solid side before, and joyed in the knowledge that she would see it again.