Deep in the dark woods past the quiet river and over the small wobbly bridge, many men would find themselves where no woman would dare to go.
Quiet as kept, the men didn’t quite understand what drew them to this place, so dark at night at that. Yet if they would talk to one another, they too would learn that they had all heard the silent whisper that knocked on their windows at night. Lulling them out of their beds as their wives slept and calling them deep down the bayou in search of the only clearing after miles of traveling in the dark.
As a man, once you treaded along the path beside the river and got to the bridge, you knew if there was a green ribbon hanging from the railing you could enter and if not , it be best you turn around and go on back home.
The walk back of course would be reaking of disappointment. More man than not would usually get to the bridge and not see the ribbon then those that had a chance to go through.
On the way back home, many men would question why they even came back when after the first time, it seemed they could never make it past the bridge again. From a distance, the absence of the green ribbon would already begin taunting them. Making them feel unworthy and unneeded before they were even clear it was missing.
What caused them to keep going back and torturing themselves night after night when they knew the possibility of never crossing the bridge was imminent?
They fussed, grumbled, and trudged home, yet even in their anger never daring to cross the bridge without the known invitation.
As they walked, their minds knew what awaited and the feeling of defeat would always be conquered by that of hopefulness.
Deep in the bayou, past the trail that rests beside the silent river, over the wobbly bridge, down another mile to the only clearing, there was temptation. And it was worth sleepless nights and wasted travels if only they would get the chance again.