Some of my happiest times during the past few years have been when I have been standing on the edge of places.
On the edge of a canyon:
On the edge of a lighthouse:
On the edge of a pier:
On the edge of the continent:
On the edge of a day:
I’m not sure why edges have such appeal for me. Perhaps it’s because when I am on an edge, I can see a long way, catching glimpses of possibilities far in advance of their appearance. Or perhaps it’s because edges create a boundary between two very different areas — land and sea; balcony and air, cliffs and gorges, night and day — and such differences mirror my own internal boundaries. Or perhaps it’s more symbolic, a precursor to the time when I will be standing on the edge of life, looking out onto . . . who knows…
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