A Broken Bridge

A bridge exists to connect one place to another. Sometimes, the bridge is left with wear and tear from years of use without upkeep. The bridge can hardly take care of itself, so it relies on others to volunteer their time. There is no contract between the bridge and its users to ensure equivalent exchange. A bridge helps and helps without asking for reimbursement. It is selfless. Sometimes, pieces break and it becomes less stable. One day, the bridge may break altogether, allowing for the harm of others. The bridge will blame itself. 

“I should have been stronger.”

“If only I could have held for just a moment longer.”

“It’s all my fault.”

But then someone comes along. They pick the pieces up one by one. They even bring in new pieces to bolster the old or missing ones. Each moment this person spends working with the broken bridge slowly brings it back. Then eventually, the bridge is whole again… The person who came along may leave or stay after repairing the bridge. Who is to say? The only certainty is that person gave their time and effort to help restore the bridge. Its confidence, strength, and ability to help all returned by one unlikely person. The bridge resumes its careful task of helping people make it from here to there safely. 

Whether you think yourself as the bridge or the unlikely stranger… You are both. 

Slipping

It’s been raining recently.

The terrain is slick.

My footing seems off.

One moment I’m up.

The next I’m slipping downward.

And downward.

And downward.

And downward.

This is it.

I lose myself.

I reach out of desperation.

I stop.

A hand holds mine.

Many hands.

All of them.

They pull me up.

Because I was willing to reach out.

They saved me.

The Fake Bird Showing Me The World

What I believe to be a bird on my windowsill chirps me awake. Slowly singing its way into my dream as I lay, mesmerized by thoughts of a world that may or may not exist. As I’m coaxed awake by the songbird I wish to see it on my sill. I rise with more intent than the past 365 mornings of quarantine. 

To my surprise there is no bird. But, there is a sky painted in hues of orange and pink as far as I can see. It looks like flames decided to dance peacefully in the sky as to not wake the world. I took in this jaw dropping scene. A thought crosses my mind to take a photo of this landscape painting I am seeing in real time, but I decide against the idea. A moment such as this deserves to be appreciated by simply observing.

Things like this make waking up a little easier on me. I feel more awake than I have in two years. Today I feel alive thanks to a fake bird and a painted sky. Those moments are what life is about.

Dancing

Leaves dance in the wind. They allow the breeze to caress them gently. Giving themselves to the movement of the world. They don’t argue, they don’t resist. They give in and feel the majesty. Slowly spinning and flailing at whatever speed the winds decide. 

It’s beautiful really. It’s a pact of trust between the leaves and Mother Nature. Sometimes it’s a gentle dance far above the ground. Other times it’s a daunting test of resilience. Survival of the fittest. Or perhaps, survival of the luckiest. Sometimes I feel as though it’s always up to chance. That’s all life really is. Taking the chance and letting the wind act as it pleases.

We could learn a lot from trees. They have nothing but patience. Living a life of constant growth while enduring whatever life may throw their way. It’s up to the winds to determine their fate. Perhaps it’s best to take a chance, then let the breeze do what it will.

But back to what started this thought… It’s a gloomy day, but it is not as if it’s ugly. The clouds and the breeze are rather beautiful. It’s a calming atmosphere signaling the transition between summer and fall. A welcome transition which takes place naturally. I look away from the peaceful waters and lake weed to see a tree, gently dancing in the wind. The branches are resilient. They do not sway with the gentle breeze, but rather their leaves are gracefully spinning amongst the wind. They dance and twirl as if looking through a natural kaleidoscope. It’s a breathtaking sight to behold. The leaves act almost like fractals in some geometric work of art. I don’t know if I’ll ever witness something similar. The hypnotic rhythm of the leaves seems almost impossible to recreate. I’ll consider this a stunning once in a lifetime moment. Let the wind take you. Trust it. Just take the chance and have patience.

The Gray Alley

Walking with my family through an unfamiliar city. The architecture is classic, yet modern and elegant. This place reminds me of Italy with an Americanized twist. Perhaps it’s akin to San Francisco? Regardless, the surroundings are beautiful and a marvel to take in.

Growing up with a master carpenter as a father invokes this deep appreciation for architecture and building styles. Wherever we go there is always something new to gather inspiration from. This particular city surrounds us with beautiful masonry seemingly cut by master artisans. It is all so breathtaking.

I have always been easily excited by the little things. I tend to get carried away with my rambles or my adventures. In this case I take a few steps to the left of where my family walks. I go off course and see an alleyway. There is something odd about this alley. All the surrounding colors are vibrant and like new. This one seems sun bleached. No one else seems to notice, but I have to delve a bit deeper.

I slowly walk in and take in my surroundings. It’s the same masonry, but everything is just gray. As I take a few steps into the relatively narrow alley I take account of how it opens up more. There is a staircase with a metal railing ahead of me to the right. Down further there is an extension of the alley leading left. There are no other doors or windows all along the walls as I walk towards this opening.

I look down the alleyway and feel… Sick. That’s the only way I could possibly describe my feelings in that moment. Perhaps confusion? Bewilderment? I can’t say for sure. I don’t believe the words exist to explain my feeling in this moment. The alleyway is devoid of color. Not just gray, but completely devoid. The brick walls seem to be burning, but there is no fire. It’s almost as if there is ash coming from these darker spots upon the walls. No, it’s not ash. They look like pixels. It looks as if the fabric of reality is breaking down into its most basic form. Other than the breaking down of the alleyway on all sides there is a hooked opening ahead to the right. More pixels seem to be pouring out like a plume of smoke from a wildfire. Is it getting larger?

I go to step a few paces towards the only opening down the alley, but then I see it. People. Many people. They are walking in a line out of the opening. They are also devoid of color in Victorian era dress. Men and women all walking in a single file line. 

I feel like I’m witnessing something no human should ever see in their lifetime. These people and this alley don’t feel real. Nothing here feels tangible. I start to back up as I realize that this place might not be meant for me.

Suddenly, a door swings open. The door upon the staircase. I quickly turn around and see a person come out; a woman. But, she hides her features by keeping her hair up in a newsboy cap and wearing a gray overcoat. Her clothes may be gray, but her face is full of color and blush. She is not one of the others. 

I’ve backed up closer to where she is, near the opening of the alley checking her pocket watch. I keep my head swiveling between where I’m going and the slowly encroaching gray people. 

The woman clicks her watch, closes it and opens a door on the wall coming from the foot of the staircase. Was that there before? I could have sworn there were bricks there. She sees me as I creep behind the railing of the stairs. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” She says to me partly bewildered and partly smiling. 

The people in Victorian dress come closer, still in a single file. They walk towards the open door. I can only describe what I see through the door as thick darkness. That darkness may be the only tangible thing in this alley other than the woman and myself. They all walk calmly and organized into the darkness. It seems like the darkness covers them as they walk through one by one. The line is long, but there is no impatience. No speaking, no emotion. Just compliance and acceptance. 

The specters have taken glances at me before moving on. They seem to notice me, but pay me no mind. But, there is one farther down the line. She seems to be transfixed by me. She locks onto my eyes and continues along the line. Her path becomes altered as she doubles up with another specter. She slowly walks towards me while seemingly keeping an arc heading towards the opening.

The lady at the door watches me patiently to see how I will react to this situation. She says nothing, almost as if anticipating something.

The gray lady reaches her hand out. The expression on her face looks like a forced smile through pain. I have no fear in my heart in this moment. I back up away from her hand and firmly say, “No.” Her expression returns to the blank stare of the rest, recoils away from me and returns to get in line. 

The lady at the door smiles. She seems surprised and yet pleased with the outcome. That moment was strange. I felt no fear, but I could tell she wanted something. It was almost as if she was trying to drag me through the door with her. Perhaps she wanted me to take her place? Either way, I don’t know why, but I felt like she was asking for my permission. Almost as if I let her grab me or said anything else, then my life would not have been mine. No was the only suitable answer within my mind. What about the lady at the door? She looks surprised to see my decision. Why is that? Has she seen something similar before?

I see the last remaining specters shambling and straggling behind, almost as if prolonging their departure through the door. There’s a deeper meaning to all of this. I can feel it. I really am not meant to see this. But then again. The interaction with the pale lady… And the surprised expression on the face of the lady at the door. Perhaps I’m not supposed to see this, but I’m meant to see it? Why, of all people, am I the one to know about this?