The Edge of the World

This past weekend, I visited one edge of the world. It wasn’t really that far of a journey. I’ve always lived near it and now live closer to it than I’ve ever been. I can actually see it from my bedroom window on the clear days. But I decided I wanted to know it better. So I packed a few things, hopped on a train, and went exploring along the edge of the world.

Brilliant carpets of yellow sweep over a gentle canvas of warm greens and earthy reds. They rise, then fall, then rise again. Occasionally, the endless sea is punctuated by clusters of dark green or irregular mosaics of dusty bleached brown. Snakes of dust surface and slither away again.

Sometimes the view expands. The carpets become little stipples, dense in some places and sparse in others. When I try to focus my eyes on them, however, they whisk themselves from view.

yellow hills

When I open my eyes, the greens and yellows are replaced by startling washes of turquoise, aquamarine, tortoise, and deep blues. The morning light has brought with it a breathtaking world. White stripes sway back and forth. Sometimes, the stripes bleed over the surface into misty webs. The blue retreats, then playfully returns. But it is always out of reach, just beyond the window. I can only stare wistfully. I can see my wishes dancing out there with them.

In the distance, there is a softly smudged line. Sometimes a dust mote sits on it. But the line itself is always straight. It emits a gentle light above itself and absorbs light from below.

the shoreline

The faded blue always hangs above us. It is spotless.

horizon waves

Sometimes, strange shapes come into view. They are dark, but not very heavy. They paint the landscape in crooked lines. I look down and realize that the darkness has been following me. It is a broad stripe not far from my feet, fluttering over the surface of things. I wonder if it stays there to hide from the light of the sun?

the shore bridge

When I look up again, the edge has moved away. It is a jumble of straight lines, jagged lines, fuzzy lines, and gentle waves. Some of them are strong while some of them are soft. From here, they look short. No doubt if I were with them, though, I’d see they are majestic and tall. What a funny thing perspective is.

The blue no longer plays with me. Instead, I watch (just a little sad) as it teases the strange tangle of lines instead.

As they fade into the distance, I bid them a silent farewell.

sea plains

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