Doors 16 August 2022

Photo by Jan Tinneberg on Unsplash

I’ve tried to open the door so many times. I had it once, squeaking open on rusty hinges, but it slammed shut. I was able to glimpse bright blue sky and a feeling of utter peace wafted out around me like a soft breeze.

I wanted in there. I knocked, begged, kicked and screamed. Exhausted, I finally dropped down and sat leaning up against the door. I couldn’t leave. I was afraid I wouldn’t find it again, that I wouldn’t remember the way back. I had some lifesavers in my pocket, but in stories, the bread crumb trail never works, so I sat there feeling sorry for myself.

I ate a lifesaver, chomped down the entire roll, and began to feel strange—kind of lighter somehow. I heard the faint whistle of a train, growing louder until I had to cover my ears. I ducked reflexively, feeling the vibration of tracks beneath me. A train was screaming down the tracks straight toward me.

About Sally Gerard

I am a writer, runner, teacher, singer, guitar player, mom, lover, coffee drinker, hunter, antique tractor driver, horsewoman, sister, and lover of the outdoors. Did I mention that I love lighthouses?
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