Burning Bridges

     
                                                     There are instincts which are deeper than reason.

                                                                                                   Sir Arthur Conan Doyle



Brian Eno's "Fullness of Wind" streamed through the headphones as she lay her head softly against the window watching as the plane ascended high above the clouds. Her heart was at once empty and full, a sensation she found most peculiar. Everything about right now seemed surreal but deeply comforting. Like when you've come in from the bitter cold of a long winter's walk and place your hands under hot running water......numbness replaced by soothing and warmth.

She left no note behind. What would have been the point?
The point was to pack her suitcase and disappear into thin air. She left a simmering pot of soup on the stove as a last loving gesture to fill them up with some kind of love.

The sky that morning hung cloudless and bright blue.
Her suitcase was old and tattered but still held the scent of good leather and her car had just enough gas to get her to the airport. Her mind as she drove wasn't swimming at all with the thoughts that should be filling any person's head at a time like this. She was calm and unworried.

She was burning bridges behind her.

The clouds were beautiful and exactly how she'd imagined them.





                                                                                              CJ Ellis