No, it doesn’t have anything to do with Gravina Island in Alaska. It’s a decrepit old bridge that the highway department “parked” in a meadow near Kemp, Texas. It called my inner child to come and play. If you click it, you can see a larger version.
My inner child squealed, “Let’s play!” while my inner mommy screamed, “You’ll poke your eye out!” Mostly I snapped pictures and danced around fire ant hills.
We went exploring my neck of the woods today … a jaunt to east Texas. I’ll talk more about it as the days pass. For now, I’ll look at the pictures we took and digest what I saw.
I’ll ponder this bridge, and the questions I can’t answer … from where did it come? … where did it lead? … what travelers passed across it? Maybe you will even tell me the stories that you imagine about this bridge. There is a story in there, somewhere.
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The creek had been the boundary his entire life; a fluid demarcation separating his childhood from the wider world. Never had he ventured past the clear waters which flowed from some distant spring, although he often wondered about the places known only from on an old map scavenged from the local garage. He had thrown rocks into the clear waters, and jumped into its coolness in the long, hot summers of his youth. Once, on a dare, he had climbed to the top of the ironworks on the old bridge, and jumped into the depths like some Olympic athlete striving against the best the world could offer. It had been to impress a girl. But now he was now longer a child, no longer content to remain in the comforting, smothering arms of family and memory. He stood poised on the precipice, one foot on the step of the rickety bus which he had observed with both fascination and dread his entire life. He climbed aboard, and chose a seat near the back, away from the old men and women making their way to ‘town’. It was his turn to leave, his moment to break free and test himself against the unknown. He allowed himself one last glance back as the bus rolled over the bridge, away from his past, and sped inexorably towards the adventure and terror of a place known only to his dreams.
Oh, Van! Well told … and intriguing. Now, you have to write the rest of the story, because I’m curious about what unknown adventures await the young man in the world beyond the bridge! Thank you … reading a story was a great way to wake up this morning
Shelly … you are so cool! I love the allusion to childhood and the ant hills. We are birds of a feather with the traipsing off and exploring.
Damien, we all have an inner child … the lucky ones among us can still hear that child! Yesterday was a good day for exploring here in Texas. Most of the day we had the cover of clouds (so it was possible to withstand the heat). Fortunately, we were headed home by the time the downpours began … although I have no objections to dancing in the rain
A bridge just sitting there in a meadow? I LOVE THAT! What an amazing photo opp.
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An irresistible one
It’s a bridge that goes to another universe !
It could very well be!
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