He awoke before dawn. He felt miserable but he was doing what he loved: a park ranger in a beautiful place. He couldn’t shake the fights, though. His dark life down the valley. Sunrise came. A prayer made of pink and cloud. Quiet, he hiked to the lookout. Birds called. Mist fell. He stood on the platform and breathed deep that beauty he could never articulate. His kids—he missed them so much. How could he have struck them so hard? He left a note, locked the door, and then walked along the ridge line of heaven to his sky-fallen hell.
Great imagery; heart-felt sense of brooding regret. You nailed this one, Jonathan!