Your line for this week is:
He came down from the mountains as autumn aged, before the paths could pile with snow and the bridges bowed with ice.
It was not until he reached the surface, not icy just covered with a layer of frost, that he began to realize it would be his last time crossing over to the other side. How many times had he done this in his lifetime? Hundreds, maybe thousands of time.
He recalled the summers he spent with his family up here in the woods. He and his brother would run across this rickety bridge without thinking twice about its safety. From one side of the river to the next, searching for treasures and hidden places. He and his brother would crawl through the the fern and fallen trees in hopes of finding a fairy home or troll tunnel.
But for now he would just cross this old bridge once more. He didn’t think it was strong enough to carry him more than once across. Those days of trips back and forth are long gone. Silly adventures and fairies and trolls were now outgrown. He wouldn’t see this bridge or these woods ever again. How had life gotten so far away from him and all of the simple pleasures he had as a child? Today was the day to say goodbye, to not look back, and to have no regrets for the changes he was making.