Where the Road Ends

                I have always wondered where the road ends.
 Where the concrete symbolism of stress meets

                                nature

                                                and peace.

A soft knock on my door wakes me.

It is thirty minutes past five,

the light of day has already made its debut -

 the sun has not.

                feet moving quickly we trip over rocks until we can stand at the top of the mountain that isn't really a mountain at all.

we stand

waiting for the sun

and then we sit.

Waiting for the sun,

                or the world,

                                or the road to end or

whatever

                we wait.

And then like memories fading the sun arrives,

                slowly but then all at once.  

The bright light is blinding but I cannot remove my squinting eyes from the

                orangeyellow sun

ascending rapidly in the tangible distance,
I want to hold it in my trembling palms.

                we sit

waiting for the sun to reach our backs

                for the shadows to crawl away

we bask in the beautiful hues of palpable bluepinkpurpleorange

And whispering to disturb no one in particular

                we acknowledge the sheer beauty of the fact that the sun rises the same way everywhere.

                the sheer beauty of the fact that there is absolutely nothing  physical to the rising sun.

                the sheer beauty of the fact that we are so much smaller than we thought.

and I want everyone to know that I was here.

                That I experienced something in this infinitely small moment

that even though the sun rises the same everywhere this one was special.

                This one was meant for me.

but instead

I sit

and I wait

                wait for the sun to set

                                or the world to change

                                                or the road to end,

                                                                or whatever

and slowly,

it does.

-Sarah Eylon