Henny in Paradise

A peaceful end to another glorious day in paradise.
The sun was now sinking in a tantalising slow dance over the distant peaks of the Nightcap Range. The sky on the horizon strewn with purples, oranges and pinks - striated like wisps of pulled apart fairy floss. You could almost taste the fluffy vibrant colours: grape, strawberry, tangerine – apricot. The atmosphere was so intense and her attunement to the environment so great that Henny’s mouth started salivating like a hungry dog waiting for its dinner. To the point where she went scrounging around in her backpack for a tissue to wipe her lips. One hundred metres below the platform she was standing on, the escarpment dropped away at an acute angle falling toward the forest floor. It was breathtaking. Tall nests of fern trees beckoned like sirens with their brilliant green soft umbrella fronds offering the optical illusion of a comfortable springy landing. She felt her right hand clench tighter onto the handrail just in case an  unconscious drive evoked in her a desire to leap out into the stunning imagery before her. Merging. Taking flight. Or falling into oblivion.
Why is it that we get the urge to jump, to fly, to soar from places like this? she thinks. Some part of the primitive brain which evolution has partially obliterated? An ancient feathered gene? Or, is it a death wish? How many people have succumbed to this urge in a vulnerable moment and died in the process?’ Was she one of those people? On the brink?
After all, she had come up here to clear her thoughts, to try and make sense of the past few weeks. To get away from the lies and deception. To see if she could find some way to piece her life back together.


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