I’ve always been fascinated by bridges, not the sleek young ones, but the old ones that were there before I was born. The ones that have been holding us up, connecting us, and allowing us to go places for more than decades. They remind me of storytellers.
Think about all the pedestrians, cars, trucks, and trains that have passed over them—they’re still standing, sturdy and tough, ready for more.
Bridges remind us of our past. They’re often the backdrop for photos of important events and the famous people who have crossed them. Our ancestors built them and bridge styles represent different eras.
The painted lines on the footings of this bridge in Winnipeg indicate various spring flood levels, like the Flood of the Century, compared to normal spring levels. And it has become a canvas for graffiti, too.
And so many birds have flown by, rested upon, and floated in the water below bridges. Like these pelicans fishing at the locks under the Lockport Bridge, north of Winnipeg.
If you’re like me, when you see a bridge you might want to go underneath to checkout the rivets, bolts, and beams, to figure out what holds it together.
Or maybe you love the rust and water stains that show how long a bridge has been there, like a person’s wrinkles and age spots. It’s a flawed and real beauty.
When you’re walking over a bridge there are so many possibilities. On a foggy day, you might be able to compare the strength of an iron rail with that of a spider’s water-laced web.
Or you can lean, let the railing hold you up…
…while you watch the river current or the ice down below.
A bridge is a good spot to dream up poems or stories because you know it must have so many of its own to tell. Just like you.