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| The bridge across. |
It is like anything in life, I suppose. You make do. Adapt.
Adjust. Speculate. And finally, you simply trust. If you make it across, you smile and whistle
and keep on going. If you fall through,
you pull yourself up, dry off as best as you can, head for shelter quickly, make
alternate plans, and keep on going. But
if you wait for the perfect time, you might find yourself waiting a lifetime. There never seems to be a perfect time.
I step out on the bridge and hear a creak. Which board is next? Ah, yes, this one. I am sure of it. I try to keep my mind out of it though,
because my mind will just interfere and try to throw logic in. In this kind of situation, logic truly needs
to take the backseat. I let my feet
remember what to do because they have done it many times before. If I just keep my thoughts silent, my feet
miraculously know what to do. Still,
each step is taken gingerly, feeling a bit before putting my full weight down. There is a way around this spot but it takes
too long. I do not have enough daylight
left.
And suddenly I am across.
This time. The sun shines
brightly as it heads toward the tree line so early in the afternoon these
days. I should make haste before it gets
dark, but I can linger just a bit and smile at my luck. We will play the game again next time, I
silently tell the bridge. The bridge
just smiles. It can afford to wait. It knows that eventually my luck will run
out. But today is not that day.
