Same trestle, different day

My hands are dangling heavily off the side of the trestle. The warm air rises and finds its way through my toes. It tosses my hair around and long strands reach for the sun. I can hear my friends nearby laughing and yelling, “Jump Katie, jump!”. Everything feels free and easy. Everything. The water runs smoothly. The trees bend down to feel the warm current tickle their branches and tug playfully at their leaves. My back starts to sizzle from the heat of the sun. A true indication that it’s time to take the plunge. The water below is so clear I think I can see a sand bar relaxing at the rivers bottom. I feel safe.

It’s February now. My arms are still dangling over the side but not with as much weight. My hair is held down by a black beanie someone left at my house years ago. The wind carries my scarf up and tickles my nose. The dry cold air is ironically making my nose wet and my eyes water. A voice inside me yells, “Jump Katie, jump!”. I try to look up at the sun but the wind burns my eyes. My head hangs heavy. Nothing is easy right now. Nothing. Tree limbs are being forced into the freezing water by the weight of heavy snow. The water races and crashes, while frigid air pushes chards of ice downstream. I hear heavy footsteps approach. I tilt my head up to see who it is. The waning sun creates a dark silhouette of large, slow moving man. “I hear it’s supposed to be 64 degrees and sunny tomorrow. Imagine that. 28 today, 64 tomorrow. Amazing how much can change in a single day.” I nod in agreement and head back to my warm car. Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow to watch the sun rise.




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