Atop The Pole

I am standing atop a long pole, old now, and caked in the red aftermath of inevitable oxidation, or rust. There are no signs as to where it comes from, or how far down it digs into the earth, but the pole is tall, nonetheless, reaching high above the line of clouds that adorn the sky ever so scarcely. Below the pole lies a large body of water stretching endlessly out into the distance to beyond the orange horizon. The water is clear as daylight, and I can see right through. I can see jagged stones at the bottom of the water, the stones dark as a pitch black night sky. The body of water itself, however, looks beautiful with the aid of the sun, which it luxuriously uses to its benefit.

I stand on the very point of the pole, my feet flat and parallel, my arms carefully outstretched evenly, and my face determined and looking upward as the pole keeps rising, and I along with it. The pole seems to rise with each passing second, and I only rise higher and higher above the clear ocean where the jagged rocks seem to all aim towards me, ready to strike if I should lose my balance.

I am in no position, however to lose my balance. I have been doing this forever. Always, standing on the pole, sometimes on two feet, sometimes on one, and when my feet tired, I have even done handstands on this pole. I know this pole through and through, its weaknesses and strengths. I barely just came here, and yet I've been doing this forever.

Suddenly, the body of water stirs. Startled, I look down at the water, tiny ripples now slowly developing across the once immobile sea. The pole shakes for a fraction of a second, for a fraction of a millimeter, but I can feel it all around me. I carefully shift my position to become more balanced. The water stirs again; this time more of a sudden jolt. My body thrusts forward slightly, but my feet stay just balanced enough to keep me atop the pole.

I look at the water again. Ripples now cover the sea everywhere I look. I can still see the jagged rocks waiting at the bottom with hungry anticipation for me to lose my balance. To fall. Those rocks would love to see me fall; would love to ruin me with their sharp teeth and carnivorous ways. For try though they might, the rocks will never be atop the pole like me. They will always remain underwater. And so, they try to move the water, to shake the pole, to tip me over.

But I will not budge. And neither will this pole at the end of my feet. I have been doing this forever.