Mortified. Yep, that's it. Once again, go here www.m-w.com to look up one of YOUR most appropriate words.
I quote my most favorite poem by W.H. Auden:
leaning out
over the dreadful precipice
one contemptuous tree
I have a lovely picture in my head: A thousand foot granite cliff, sheer all the way down to the jagged rock strewn base. Not one hand or toe hold. Awesome to behold. A speck at the very top, now green, now grayish brown. It's almost too far away to make out, but it's a tree, and the tree has new spring leaves just starting. In the manner of dreams, one gets closer, and sees that, unbelievably, this vibrant living tree grows straight out of the unforgiving and hardest rock imaginable, clinging there, despite the ravening wind. I could argue, of course, the tree has no eyes, and no brain to appreciate this loveliest of images. But I do, and I'll remember...
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