Tired from the journey so far, I roll onto my stomach and fall asleep without giving the new ledge and meadow a second thought.
I wake in the morning to find a jug of lukewarm water and some bread. I read as I breakfast, having brought last night’s offering from the table with me when I headed for rest. The book is not great art, but it is an easy read and, more to the point, it keeps my mind off of yesterday’s rooms, what I left behind and what might await me.
Stopping occasionally to drink a bit more water, nap for a few minutes or stretch my legs.
But mostly, I stay in the crevice that seems made just for me and I read.
And then, after a few days of reading, eating and sleeping… I finish the book.
“What now?” I think to myself. Peering out of the crevice, I look back towards the table that once held food and a companion who had waited to meet me. Then I look towards the meadow that drew me in this direction a few days hence.
In the light of day, the plank to get to the meadow doesn’t seem as narrow as I remember– it seems even thinner, maybe impossibly so and the gap between the ledges seems cavernous. But what awaits me if I go back? A door that holds a room with all I fear most and a table whose offerings, while lovely, are not all that I want from this trip.
So I close my eyes for a moment, thinking slowly and deliberately. I picture myself straightening up on the ledge and confidently, slowly, successfully navigating my way to the meadow. Feeling calmer, I crawl out of the crevice and move towards the abyss.