Where would I be without my friends?

That's a rhetorical question, because I don't want to find out the answer--ever.  

I lean out over the chasm, peeking down from my perch on the brink of annihilation.  A hot wind blows straight up the face of this safe and solid cliff from the violent rage below; an unnatural wind, not flying from any cardinal compass point and bringing cloud and storm, or blowing them away as normal winds do in the normal procession of days.  This is the hot breath of the beast below, roaring up at me, infuriated that I am beyond its reach in this place made safe for me by the love of my friends.  

I am never as aware of the solid ground beneath my feet, or as conscious of the stability in my life as I am at the edge of my existence, that treacherous canyon where I almost lost the world.  I have been rescued from the abyss by my friends, and I am stunned by my good fortune.