Five Years a Writer

The yellow chairs had captured her imagination, but it was the bridge across the little meadow that caught her heart. That bridge lead over and away into the horizon that the view promised. On a sunny day, that view stretched out into endless possibilities. Possibilities of doing and seeing and being in ways that had long since escaped her reach. The journey that brought her to the bridge over the meadow and to those yellow chairs, set so appealingly as if for a conversation among friends over tea, had been unplanned and, in so being, its impact entirely unexpected. When asked if she wanted to pack a bag and come along for a trip into the country, she had, without much thought, said yes. Why not? Nothing much to keep her here, in the hot city, at the height of summer. The turn down the driveway showed the reason for making the effort of the trip — that view, the bridge, those chairs. Together, they represented everything the friends in the vehicle had left behind or, rather, had tra