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Quote by Stewart Stafford

“The Edge by Stewart Stafford Hanging on the jagged edge, Taunted to plunge in the deep, Surfing wild on stormy winds, Cold sweat at pain's brief sweep. Nestled in some whirling gusts, Gooseflesh skin from chilly hands, A mask for a mimicry ball, An everyman's muddled land. Rising from some inner call, Not a fugazi in Kismet's window. The path still fogged from sight, I climb higher, to touch the rainbow. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

Quote by Stewart Stafford

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Stewart Stafford

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“It began raining harder and my thoughts drifted towards the waterfall from the night before. I wondered if the water might work itself into a frenzy around me and drag me down the cliff with it. Flash floods were common in this type of landscape; they came every time it rained. It kept coming down, harder and harder. I cozied up closer to the frigid rock and buried myself deeper in my tank top. By this point, the rain was building into streams and flowing off the rocks around me. I sat there in the fetal position, wondering if the rain was going to sweep me from my feeble perch and down into the dark abyss.”

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“Yuan approaches the edge of the cliff. The waterfall feels like a magnet full of untainted energy when his hand has touched something dead. Although, the hand feels energetically cleaner after healing a life with prana. His half-aging, half-youthful skin at the back of that hand has tightened. It looks younger than his other one now. He examines that hand. His skin hasn’t felt this smooth for so long. “Recharge my car,” he says.”

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