I stood on the edge of the rock, the friction between the rough edges of the rock and the rubber on my shoes keeping me from sliding down the slab. My fingers caressed the rock beneath me skin, searching for little indents that would be good handholds for me to move up. Sometimes a quick caress reveals something good enough to continue, but sometimes the path is elusive, and I pause, running my fingers over and over again, feeling with my fingertips. Sometimes there simply isn’t anything to be found, and that’s when I take a deep breath, take the toes of my feet off the tiny ledge, and press it flat against the wall, moving just a little bit higher for my fingers to finally feel something positive.
Sometimes I run my fingers over the rock just a tad longer, as a lover would savour the feel of her beau. Even if my eyes are blinded by the glare of the sun, the sensitive fingers reveal the secret path hidden by the rock.