Don's Descent
Don took one last deep breath of the frigid November air, his harness now firmly clasped
to the safety belt around his waist. His eyes met the sky, and he took the time to appreciate the
morning sun, the sky around it a warm pink shade. He mouthed to himself an old saying he heard
from his mother; ‘pink sky in the morning, sailors take warning’. Don then sighs and looks down
at his feet, dangling freely on the precipice of the seemingly endless hole he’s preparing to
spelunk into. ‘The Gator’s Mouth’ is what the local Floridian’s call it. Or at least he thinks that
what they call it… the swamp people were difficult to understand.
