while standing on the edge, the earth gives way.
arms, horizontal, seek balance, stability.
onlooking eyes see.
curious eyes watch.
no planned choreography.
only spontaneous movements.
a response of action.
twisting here, bending there.
no breath escapes.
the more effort, the less progress.
the more effort, the less control.
the more effort, the less hope.
most curious bystanders leave.
several spectators smile smugly.
a few observers gasp.
only one watcher reaches a hand.
she knew he knew.
he’d watched from the beginning.
he’d seen each inching step,
each gentle hop.
he’d measured the distance from him.
calculated the space in between her and the edge.
he surveyed small feet shuffle to the fringe.
the first pebble shifted, then the second.
dust flew, caught by wind and carried away.
arms waved furiously attempting to find footing.
small toes helplessly gripped inside shoes.
a hand, his hand, stretched forward.
curious eyes looked to see it’s owner.
he’d spanned the gulf once before and here he is again.
a different chasm, but one just the same.
flailing arms settled as hands settled into his.
the earth beneath shifted as hands cradled her closely.
pebbles dropped, dust danced.
she rested, rescued.
he rested, rescuer.
The Lord says, “I will rescue those who love me.
I will protect those who trust in my name.
When they call on me, I will answer;
I will be with them in trouble.
I will rescue and honor them.”
More ONE THOUSAND GIFTS, here…