5, 4, 3, 2...

That moment when you start running fast while making up, rather, convincing your mind that you are actually about to jump off a cliff - never mind the tall grass that pierces your legs, or the once-in-a-lifetime blooming of an unusual flower, or the pebbles that punctures the soles of your feet; the only thing you hear is the beating of your own heart like the heavy footsteps of a running giant and the wind ringing inside your ears, like cymbals that have just been beaten -- that's when you've decided, in between the buzz of a fly and the falling of the autumn leaf that you are, in fact, as the fog gives way and the rays of the sun beaming on the edge, ready to jump - about to jump - in 5, 4, 3, 2...