As I approach it, I see the bridge , spanning the river. Each arch is different. There are lots of stories as to why. It’s probably to do with finding a solid base for each column, but I like the idea that different parties could afford spans of different sizes. There has been a bridge here for centuries, and before that a ford, retained in the town’s name – Bideford. Once you’re on the bridge, you no longer see it. I look to where I’m going, and at the river below me. North of us there’s a new bridge, high above us, traffic moving slowly this morning. Down here there is mist hanging over the water, keeping it secret. Birds are simple shadows moving in the haze. I’m heading east of the water in stop start traffic. Kids in school uniform are walking in clumps of adolescence, office workers trot by in efficient shoes. They are mostly heading west, to schools and shops and estate agents. We are all in movement, but the bridge remains.
Mist rising softly
Movement of life and water
Breathe in this beauty.
For Grace at dVerse, a bridge haibun. Head over there, and breathe in the beauty of the poetry you find there. And write some too. Just one word after another…