I climbed down both banks. On both sides of the lake. I leaned over the bridge and shot blind. I lay down and curled over the lip to shoot what I saw. I broke a twig off a bush because it was in the way. A passing friend walking her dog ignored me, as she knew she should. I slid down the bridge toward one bank. Then toward the other. I shot and shot and shot.
Because the bridge, the pilings, the peeling paint, the rust, the leaves, the water, the reflection, the day so beautiful.
Here are a few of the many.