|The new oldest covered bridge in MA (rebuilt after a fire destroyed the original structure)|
Covered Bridge Thoughts
The way the sun paints my walls
in broad strokes
and diagonal slashes,
illuminating initials twined in hearts,
and the mud-plastered swallow’s nest
on the highest rafter—
The way the restless water murmurs
of muskrats and marsh grass
and the far places from which it has fled
as it rushes seaward—
The echo of feet on my rough planks,
and the cavernous, roofed darkness—
Either end brings the traveler into the light again
or out of the rain.
The strength of my trusses
like great arms lifting,
and the grace of my span—
river, wood, and a trust in design
meant to reconcile the gap between
here and there.
I am the bridge.
for One Shot Wednesday #46