The Edge

She sat at the edge.
She always sat at the edge. It was her favorite spot. At the edge, she could see everything. She could see the waves crashing right below her when she tilted her head forward slightly. And she could see the waves barely turning over in the far off distance. She could see the vast sky spreading above her head, and could follow the clouds as they drifted along.
She could count the stars when the sky darkened. She could feel the wind blow away the strands of her hair across her face. She could spread her arms in front of her into space, and she could lie on her back while her feet dangled into the nothingness that was below her.
The edge didn't scare her.
The edge disturbed her.
It began where it ended and ended where it began.
It provided endless possibilities for disaster, and unimaginable opportunities for rejuvenation.
It fascinated her.
It captivated her.
She felt drawn to it, taking shelter in its emptiness. Yielding her senses to its danger.

She stood up, and dusted the remnants off her limbs. She lifted her head and looked across at the horizon where the sun was slowly making its way down, slanting her eyes every so slightly, capturing the dimming rays between her eyelids.
She nodded her silent promise to return, and slowly made her way back to wherever the road led.