Honestly I don’t understand what the fear of me is. A young human had ventured too high up onto a rock, and as he looked down into the valley of the mountain he was climbing he could see the distance he had come in proper prospective. The trees looked like toys, and the rocks below that he knew to be boulders, as he had just journeyed up the ravine and through the rock scramble, looked like tiny pebbles such as you would find at the bottom of an ornamental pond. The human now was experiencing me in my majesty. He realized that if a strong gust of wind were to come along he would plummet to the bottom of the ravine and splatter among the boulders below. From me, to finished. I thought it was fantastic, but from the size of his eyes I could tell he clearly didn’t. He slowly stepped back from the rock overlooking the ravine, he didn’t see the stick behind him. Back, back, back his foot went. I thought he would hit it, however he didn’t. Too bad. Maybe next time. I blew goodbye to the young human as he departed the rock face. I continued being, reveling in how far from the ground I was. Truly wonderful.
Since I was a little boy my dad has always taught me to look my fears in the eyeballs, and challenge them. Because of this I would say that I don’t have any fears or phobias but instead an assortment of things that I have a healthy respect for. Heights is chief among these things. I believe that every human naturally should have a healthy respect for heights. It is reasonable to fear the drop from hundreds of feet up, to an unforgiving surface below. The background of this story was set in my head, at Old Rag mountain in the Shenandoah Mountains. I frequented this rock scramble/climb much in my formative years, and always had to at the top face my fear of falling over the edge, as I looked down from where I had come.