Our idea was to reach the top and look out over the town without getting too close to the cliffs. Somewhat to our surprise, it was slow climbing for such an easy looking incline, because the ground seemed crumbly in texture, and our steps tended to slide instead of stick. After an hour or so, however, we made it to the top of the ridge--or almost to the top. There, running across the hillside, was a wire fence, one that we hadn't noticed from the road, and about a yard before that, sitting stolidly on a little post planted into the rock, was a sign:
Danger. No Trespassing.
This hill unsafe for climbing!
It turns out that the hill was composed of some kind of volcanic rock--shale, maybe, that frequently gave way to landslides, particularly when disturbed by feet--especially tennis-shoe clad feet of women who didn't know what they were doing on the side of a mountain.
Needless to say we turned around and made our way back to the bottom, not boinging about in our usual fashion either. All the way down we talked about the utter incompetency of the one who placed the sign at the top instead of at the bottom of the hill.
Three-Word-Wednesday prompt-lean, utter, dabble.
