The tires crunched as I pulled to the shoulder and parked. How had I never seen them before? I opened the car door.
The ancient stairs were covered in a peeling scale of fallen leaves. Those same leaves that had always hidden the stairs in all the summers of driving by.
What was it about the sight that made my heart go untethered in my chest? What was it about them that spilled hope and fear like a drug in my blood?
What would happen if I climbed them? And if I never did, would I always wonder?
What a delight to find my photo on Fictioneers this morning! Thanks for using it Rochelle. I can’t wait to see where all the Fictioneers go with it.
I don’t know if mine is a story, or just what actually goes through my mind every time I walk by this spot. To date, the stairs remain unclimbed. But the place lives large in my mind as a personal metaphor.