The Leap.

THE LEAP.

The mountains stretched above, their majestic prowess barely visible in twilights approaching mists.
Air gushed in torrents of fading curls from the mouths of spectators, their tension tangible to the touch.
It arose, as if in flight before plummeting down to occupy the hearts and minds of each person present.
High up, one man, his red coat glinting in the last rays of the day, was perched upon a protruding crevice.

His features tense, stretched in anticipation , mirroring that of his awaiting audience, far below.
A single  copper tinged hair falls into his ice blue eyes, blinding the man temporarily, before his gloved hand , clasping a ski pole in a death grip, brushes it aside.

The world is still.
waiting,
watching.
Nothing exists but this man and this mountain,
and for a moment, one brief moment , suspended in time, they become one...
...Before the blood rushes back and to the triumphant roar of his supporters and one final intake of breath,
the man leaps.


By
 Clara Skoog-Smyth.