The Cave

It was autumn when I found the cave.
The door was partly obscured by tumbled boards and a wrecked auto, a '29 Buick, daisies and delphiniums growing around the crankshaft.
Whoever stopped there and for whatever reason apparently moved on and abandoned the iron horse that carried him from West Virginia.
I climbed into the auto through the rusty window, hurried back to my campgrounds for a flashlight, entered into the cave and walked about three feet.
There was no sound except my pounding heart. I cautioned forward and turned off the flashlight.
It was one o'clock in the afternoon.
Through spiders of light, I saw a marble table, thick and of good quality.
Up a stairway beside an outdoor grill that I was afraid might contain bones, I saw light at the top and three small doors, one partly open, one with creaky hinges, and one unmovable.
I pushed open the one with creaky hinges and waited.
No sound except the click of my flashlight.
Out jumped a bat at then then another.
Silence. Who would hear me if I screamed?
The light behind me dashed across grey stones as I stood on the stairway.
It had just rained yesterday and the sweet perfume of flowers welcomed me as I approached a new morning.
I wanted to seek further on and walked slowly down the stairs, saving the mysteries for tomorrow.