It’s 3am but to us it feels like a dark afternoon.

We walk a down the hill;

a straight path. Paired 2 by 2

never farther than an outstretched arm

from a friend who will pull you up if you feel yourself

starting to fall. In the front

counselors blair bass-heavy music to alert the Forest:
We are alive tonight.
Beneath our feet, gravel cascades

down and settles in the water below. Old gnarled

tree roots break up the path into divets and obstacles.

Only by the sound of the rushing water do I know that we are near.

Finally, we get to the rock. Other campers

set up hammocks and radios. I

tug off my shirt and throw it aside.

Now my bathing suit hangs loosely

from my body. I re-tie my sneakers

as a way of telling myself

I am ready.

We go to the ledge.

Now there are lanterns in the pool beneath us. Faces below

splash and play in the ice-cold

water. First off the rock is a counselor.

He’s done this jump a hundred times
but each time he acts like

it’s his first. A few moments pass

before we hear the splash

followed by a spirited howl

to let us know he’s made it.

Now I’m up. I walk out to the very edge. My toes

peak out over the tip. I imagine myself

leaping and I get nervous

I step back and let my braver comrades go ahead

of me. If my heart beat was an indicator

of my activity, you’d think I’d just finished a marathon. I watched

as one by one they leave the rock the way baby birds

leave a nest. They are learning how it feels to fly.

With each splash

of a new fledgling colliding with the water,

I feel a pull. I know this is it; my only chance.

Again I approach the edge.
I stick out my arms and call

“I’m coming down” then 3,2,1