175: Rope Bridge

175 wedhatted ropebridge MF

Dare I take the first step? Dare I lean, let my weight fall forward onto so much air, with only a board between us? Is there enough courage, enough momentum to cross this way? I do not know. Holding the twisted hemp, eyes closed, inching onwards, knowing the two islands must meet somewhere in the middle, over nothing. I keep on and shuffle, mindful of nothing but the movement, and the wind determined to shake my already faltering heart, limp limbs desperate to buckle, tears welling, only grim purpose and angels pushing me now.

Who hung this pendulum, this swaying, swinging cobweb thread? Who fastened each plank and took the leap of faith into calling this a bridge? What is so great about the other side anyway, that I must garner every molecule of bravery and swallow my faith so it pounds in my lungs? And will that other clifftop soon meet me with outstretched hand, coaxing me into its palm, promising me safety? Yes, it was that voice which beckoned me, that soft, still call of love. I slide my petrified feet and move ever closer to home.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from morguefile.com

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