bridge

On a cloudy winter afternoon I walked alone.  The path brought me to a bridge that crossed the river.  I felt as though I had entered a cathedral or stood gazing into the passageway to a secret temple.  Even the air moved in hushes and whispers beneath the barren stone.

I and wondered what voices had sheltered here that only these great arches had witnessed.  Lovers’ promises stand in soft embrace, children dash laughing to the bank, a solitary sleeper without a home save the shelter of this shrine and roof.  A veritable temple of time so lonely in the center of a bustling city.

I thought about the people that I love.  Though my solitude warmed me now I would never forget the warmth of love.  When on a cloudy winter’s day my joy in having held so many hands, so many years made all things rapturous through pain and sadness even when they graced the altar too.  Where is the bridge that covers it all; the good the not so good, with constant strength?  See how resilient, surviving against the battering of wind and rain, tides and storms.  Believe that the sanctuary, the holy place, the bridge that endures — is you.

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