The following is a continuation of a story started in The Gate is Small (Pt. 1). I encourage you to read it first.
I made my way across the bridge with growing confidence that
the path I walked was a good one. I thought about the man so afraid of the
height of the bridge that he forgot about the builder of bridges! All who hiked
this mountain knew he was as trustworthy a builder as they come.
Dismounting the bridge on the other side I continued my hike
along the trail. It wound around the mountainside, along a ridge for some time
and then turned into little more than a goats path. It rested on the precipice
of a steep cliff on the right hand side, and a steep rise on the left. I
clutched at the wall-like rock on the left as I inched my way around the
mountainside. More than once my foot slipped off the narrow path and I came
close to plummeting down the cliff to who knows where! I knew I would not be
happy if that happened, and yet it occupied my mind more than any other
thought.