The Living Ladder

Gave a thick, woody vine root dangling down the sheer limestone bluff a good two-handed yank to test its grit. The trail upstream ended dead against a steep wall of rock, and without my flying mojo, turning back was lookin' mighty tempting. But that knotted curtain of roots formed a natural ladder better than anything back home. I jammed the high heel of my boot into a sturdy crook, hauled myself up hand over hand, and scrambled past the mossy lip onto a flat, sun-drenched stone shelf. Shook the red dirt off my gloves and looked out over miles of emerald canopy. Straight up beats walking in circles any day, sugar.