Bridges

The stone bridges in Abbo's Alley are all of friendly size: mossy stoned and small, the bridges invite a walker to cross and pause with ease.

What is the peculiar charm of a bridge? The promise of the other side? The breaking of a barrier? The entrance into a new space?

For me it's the leisurely crossing itself. The step, and the pause, and the glance down to the stream below, looking as Pooh, Piglet, and Christopher Robin do for whatever floats down or doesn't, or the glance upward at sky or building or tree and leaf or blossom.

My childhood home had a bridge of railroad ties, and my current community has many of stone. I love them all for their endings and beginnings and for the vignettes they offer.