Untitled, begining

Down the embankment, to the pond ran a row of ancient wooden steps. They were set into the hillside and at one time had been painted white. Weather and age had faded them now to a soft grey and the weeds and brambles had taken over the path down to the pond. The trees surrounding the meadow had on their fall colors, the reds, oranges and yellows stood out in bright, warm contrast with the icy-cold blue sky. The little pond lay still and silent below.

"Do I go down?" she asked.

The steps, despite their age, looked sturdy enough. The pond, despite everyones warnings about it seemed safe enough. The wind rustled through the trees, setting the leaves trembling slightly.

"Do we shake in fear or excitement?" she whispered to them, to herself.

The brambles seemed to part in front of her for a moment, showing her the path more clearly. Then, as if they changed their mind, closed back over the steps. Back and forth they swayed, sometimes the way was open and clear and a moment later, it was tangled and closed.

"Do I go down there or do I walk on?" she wondered.

"Do I listen to what I've always been told?"

"Do I go or do I stay?"

The woods around her were hushed. All was now still, waiting ,watching. The leaves and grass stood silent now, even the wind seemed to be holding its breath.

"Do I go or do I stay?" she asked herself again but no answer came. Her heart was as quiet and empty as the meadow below.