Broken Bridges

             The sight, the sound, the way seen..and I'm curious. The old place, with some old stories that keep trying to speak, from broken bridges. The water rushing down and across, over and through, where neglect speaks loudly of abandon. 


           "What was there? Who was there? What happened then?", questions that wander through my thoughts. Here I'm looking, taking in the discarded trash along banks of a tiny creek, where broken bridges tell me something significant once happened here; here, where a broken foot bridge still remains and I'm left to ask what would have happened if it remained, was tended to, and used like it once was. Here, where a way was made that I can't ignore. 

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