The Bridge

There is a small red bridge out behind the old abandoned school here in our hamlet...it does not really go anywhere, the proverbial bridge to nowhere, crossing a creek that one could cross barefoot on any summers night. That said, it is a quaint bridge nestled under some trees, the creek and the critters surrounding it serenading visitors who might happen to stop by on a starlit night.   It's a bridge I tend to frequent, climbing the five steps to a have a seat and think as I stare skyward, thinking to myself its the perfect place for a picnic, but would not be so if the bridge did not adorn the space, it's beauty and simplicity completing Mother Nature's masterpiece.

Most of the time the bridge finds itself alone, few bothering the time to leave the sidewalk and meander back to where it sits.  On the nights I sit and ponder I often wonder which of us is keeping the other company.  Standing up I make my way to the bridge's center, looking down at water as it rushes by, always in a hurry to get to wherever it is going, rocks with moss, much like the bridge staying in place, offering seats to anyone who might happen to be walking by.  

I make my way to the other side, sit on the opposite steps looking down as I take off my shoes, the urge to dip my feet in the water too great a temptation to ignore.  I place first one, then the other shoe on the bottom step and let my feet touch the sand as I find my way to the water's edge, feel the coolness like a blanket wrapping itself around my ankles as I bend down to roll up my pant legs so that I can wade out and sit on one of the rocks covered in moss, so that I can sit and admire the bridge from another angle, smiling as the stars wink at me from the sky above.