Student writing: Don't look down

My heart is high. Not just figuratively, but literally. Eighty feet in the air and the wind is blowing hard causing the loose tin on the shed to clang together. My nose is running down the top arch of my lip and my hands are trembling.

“Don’t look down!” is what my grandpa yells up at me. Only twenty more feet and I will have reached the top.

The night is young, with the evening blues turning into a deep purple and pink blur. Fall harvest nights, when the leaves are just beginning to fall, is when I make my first time trip up the silo.

 


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