Terri L. French

Precipice

Driving over a bridge I think, just one swerve to the right and a little push of the accelerator and I’d be up and over. It scares me a little that I think of this. I have no desire to die or even to experience that panicked adrenaline rush I’m sure accompanies the short span of time between being airborne and making impact. I’m not afraid of bridges or heights, nor is my mind plagued by thoughts of my own demise. My fear is in the recognition of my own impulsive nature and attraction to the gray areas of life.

inchworm
hanging on
by a thread

I’m standing at the railing of a friend’s deck next to my husband. We are up in the mountains gazing down into the ravine. I take a chance and ask him “Do you ever think how easy it would be to just jump?” He doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy at all. Our eyes meet in recognition and relief. “Yes, actually I have,” he says. Then we both laugh and I feel very alive.

falling leaves
one last waltz
with the wind

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Note: “falling leaves’ originally appeared in the Haiku Society of America’s 2017 members’ anthology, On Down the Road.

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About the Author

Terri L. French is a poet/writer and retired Massage Therapist. She and her husband, Ray, have four mostly grown children and one spoiled dog. They now enjoy the nomadic life of full-time RVers.