Sisyphus in Pieces—Tipping Point
His chest heaved; his eyes were wide and staring. The rock had come so close—he had come so close—
He could still see the black depths, still feel the ground crumbling beneath his feet, the rock teetering, his balance going, but he would not
he would not
he would not—
And this time, by sheer luck, he hadn’t.
His great, ragged gasps for breath subsided. ”Easy, old man,” he told himself. “Stay in control. Find another way.”
No more would he risk the rock rolling toward the abyss while he worked off his anger against the gods. Never again would he look over that edge. He would not stand on that precipice to save his life.
He took a long, measuring look at the hill.
+++++
desert winter
through the glass the sky nothing
but blue