The Bridge, wedged into Earth with generations of stomping, trotting, prancing, hopping. The stories, it could tell, and does. Life - with it The Bridge shines.
Oozing is the smell of Spring - like the mountain, with moisture. Rushing, is my heart, like the violent gush of liquid beneath It, The Bridge.
The Bridge. Dare I? Cross it?
Gazing, I stand stiffly. What's stopping me? I'm scared - hesitant.
I'm not scared.
Swiftly, the breeze washes through the aspen trees - the forest crawls and creeks.
I'm not scared.
Jolting, or so it felt. After finally bending my right knee - forward. My heel planted with purpose. Around, I look, scanning between the silhouettes of towering, red firs and pines.
Thumping, my heart competes for attention.
"Heerre beeear!"
Nothing, the forest responded.
Releasing, my breath flew out of me, like the swallows dashing above the canopy - casting, their brief shadows across my face. Theirs, joining the show before me: light, dancing over the forest floor - like ballerinas in a broadway show.
Forward - my left foot followed, as the vibration of water beneath The Bridge ran through soil, and my feet.
Atop the bridge, I hovered - the dancers, hovering with me across the bridge. The sun, reaching out, giving me a brush as I walk across.
I made it - forward.
Is this the bridge in the photo? MMj