At the edge of his journey
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breathing what feels like ice atop
the edge of a cliff,
he sends clouds of dust swirling,
storming into the air with each stamp of his foot.
A long road,
a snake-like curve that weaves its way
through the plains and flowing crops
in the wind,
lies far behind him now.
As with every road,
the path was not always straight or easy.
Terrible mountains loom,
spiking jagged peaks into the sky.
Still, he kept his head up,
for outside the exit of each brutal and damp cave,
there never failed to be clear,
Now at the end, he closes his eyes
and moves closer to the edge,
crouching as his chest moves closer to his knees.
dazzling visions of snow-white feathers
that he never had until now,
he launches himself and soars
through an endless sea of cerulean.
He is flying,
flying to his home in the sky.
Someday, I'll write a story about dodgeball and they'll make it into a movie.