Coming to an abrupt stop, in front of a wooden bridge, her fingers traced the rough strip on a box of matches. Removing one she struck it alight and caught the faint smell of sulphur. The flame grew tall and began to dance as her thoughts oscillated between 'why' and 'why' not.
Seconds later, as the flame began to lick at her fingertips, she suddenly saw everything so clearly. There was not just one bridge ahead but several, all interconnected. Quickly blowing out the match she knew . . . . . today was not the day to burn bridges.
Linking up with Texture Tuesday.