Hammons: Writing and Running in Boulder, Colorado


The Crevasse, Page 5

Jim walked to one of the windows that looked down upon the Manhattan skyline, which glittered with lights. He had flicked Letterman off, and now took in the beauty he was paying three thousand a month for. He was surrounded by the silence that his soul searching needed.

To write, that was what he had wanted to do in the beginning. To lawyer, that was what he had come to do, through a laziness of the spirit. Not of the mind or body, for he was fast on his way to becoming a junior partner in the firm. No, it was a laziness born of inertia. He had been pushed, ever so gently, in a certain direction. And he had gone with the push to place a firm foot on the other side of the Crevasse.

Maybe that push was a pull, a pull from the other side of the Crevasse that beckoned him to make his leap before it was too late. No matter, the Crevasse was there underneath his leaden feet. If he did not leap, he would be swallowed whole.

The Crevasse by W.R. Hammons:

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