Beckoning

It was quiet -- a welcome relief from the storm of the night before. A gray sky hung low overhead, grazing the mountain tops to the north and south. A stream ran thru the center of the narrow valley, its cold water bubbling over round pebbles as it followed its course.

To the east, there was a hint of sun behind the clouds. A waterfall fell from the heights, its water cascading in great leaps, making a spray that filled that end of the valley with mist.

To the west, the stream wound its way around sharp rocks and great boulders and parts of mountain that jutted into the valley. Far in the distance, you could make out the sea.

He stood there for a moment, taking it all in. And then his mind was drawn again to the crack in the mountain wall that stood before him, a yawning mouth of darkness that you could not miss even if you turned your back on it.

Something was beckoning him to come in. Despite his trembling legs, he began to move forward.

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