The Jump Poem by Bullion Grey

I hear running water…..a streamlet, or brook I must be near. I hear the soft rushing of the waters escaping downward to some other place I cannot see.
I see a man standing on the top of a mountain above the village below. As he stood up there, a fly menaced his eye, his sweat staying just above his brow, enough to irritate his view of where he was going now.
For a moment the white clouds misting in the blue sky, clouds of translucence, pass by without sound. The mountains stood as witnesses in the distance. The trees silent - almost as if they were sad, sad to see an old friend leaving. They almost talked, almost, the trees to him. Their communication so powerful, nonverbal, it was the rustling of branches and pine needles. He walked closer to the edge, with his toes hanging over. His hands gripped into fists, sweating now as well.

The people seemed like small tiny shadows of humans, people who didn’t quite exist. The tiny horses and carriages looked like small toys he could play with, if only they were toys. If only the entire village was just make believe, a place that he had constructed in his own mind.
Then just as the wind stopped blowing, as if on cue, he stepped off the cliff, hurling himself towards the Earth at an unknown speed. He landed on the steeple of the church. People run toward the church to see what happened.

I hear running water, and see next to the church is a small stream, a small crystal clear liquid chandelier, rushing somewhere of unheard of destination.