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Another Sign


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by James Bridges

The door swung open and there was light.

I couldn’t see much else other than the soft silhouette and the glow which surrounded the now more frequent visitor from the woods…her.

She asked me to follow. I couldn’t resist.

The bricks that have been mortared must be unsealed.

As we moved forward down the path once again to what would most assuredly be some sort of puzzle for me to ponder, I felt some sort of lifting sensation. She glanced with a slight smile.

Her eyes were visible this time. The slight amber rings embraced the entrancing dark windows to the soul. The mere thought of being noticed by them instills inspirational assurance.

I followed.

We stopped and she pointed. I looked and there were three paths. In front of each path was a sign. Only one of the signs came into focus. I glanced at her and she was smiling.

As the path grew narrow I noticed I wasn’t following her any longer. By the time we reached what was meant to be seen we were standing side-by-side. Looking and watching. Laughing and crying. Hoping and fighting off the past that never was and never will be.

The walls that surround must crumble in order to see the light.

And the sign read, gratitude.

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