The View from the Bridge

As this piece is long, I will preface it simply. This is another photo taken by a friend. I am familiar with this wonderful setting, an arboretum that runs through the local university campus. A wonderful place to get lost and find yourself.



Postcard #3:
The View from the Bridge

The morning was young and the sky clear
On the day I found the bridge.

It was shaped like a small hill,
Gentle arches of open rails
Letting nature grow into the structure.

Oak trees stood guard on both ends,
Shading the approach and
Silently protecting the travelers who crossed.

How many times had I walked
By this junction, this connection
To another path on the other side?

I had no answer,
And my feet hesitated in fear.
I could not see the landing on the other side.
I suspected there was another road
For a light post stood on the other end.
The vines at the rails blocked my view
And I could not see what passed under the bridge.
Was there a river? Maybe another path?
Or a bottomless chasm-

Laughter erupted from behind me.
I turned and my guardian angel shimmered, 
Shaking off the dust from the clouds.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, 
Placing one hand on my shoulder,
Turning me back to face the bridge.

"Climb the bridge.
Soak in the sun when you reach the crest.
Proceed to the other side.
Look around and observe
What is different and what is alike."

"You wonder what is on the other side
And if there is anything that will hurt you.
Release those thoughts.
Let them fall off of you
As you take your first steps across."

"And when you reach the end of the bridge,
Keep walking forward.
Don't turn to look for me
On this side of the bridge.
I will be there next to you on the other side."