Pan not Man

Climbing rocks in chunky plastic shoes and nylon strung sleeves, this city boy ain't used to nature. I start to panic if I feel that I've climbed too high, can't see the next foothold or lose sight of my bag. I feel slightly nauseous looking over the clff edge. What if the rock was to suddenly give way? What if the wind picks up and throws me off the edge? I try to let go of the tension in my bones and take trust in the sinew of my muscles. I breathe out dirty lung fulls of expectation and self-defence and breathe in salty air. I take off my trainers and admire the clumps of unweildly hairs on my feet. A hoof is born.