The Crossing
Every day she waited at the crossing. Hope to catch a glimpse of the opening. That strange trick of the light that she had only seen once before when she was a small child of three.
Every day at dusk she contrived to be there just incase the opening appeared again. She stayed in the village she was born in, enjoying a full life, marriage, children,grand and great grandchildren. Helping others always she was known to be a kind and generous woman.
As the years went by people gave up asking why she went to the bridge at the end of every day. It just became accepted, part of life.
It was on her hundred and third birthday that as she stood by the bridge that the light changed. She rubbed her eyes and sure enough there was the opening. There was the village and to her astonishment the same young man who had waved to her all those years ago was beckoning to her.
As fast as her old bones could carry her she began to cross the bridge. It was a long bridge and at first she thought she’d never make it across. Strangely the nearer she got to the young man the quicker she seemed able to move.
As she reached the young man he took her hand and asked her why she had taken so long, she smiled at him and as she looked into his eyes she saw her reflection….. She was young again.
The opening closed the moment she stepped through it.
Back in the village no knew what had happened to her. They searched for weeks but she was nowhere to be found. They all decided that she had, had a good innings.
All bar one child who had witnessed the whole incident. He he never told anyone what had happened but every evening at dusk he visited the bridge.
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