The bridge
Last night, I took this picture from the bridge.
This bridge means a lot to me. I like walking across it at any time of day—sunrise, sunset, even at night. Each time it feels beautiful in its own way. The wind is always there, brushing against me as I walk, the creek flows gently beneath, and the crows drift by overhead.
But it’s more than scenery. This bridge marks a passage in my life: from the house we live in now to the new one we’re building. Every evening, I cross it to check on the progress. I know the day will come when I won't need to walk it anymore, when the passage is complete. That moment will carry its own meaning, a new beginning.
What is a bridge, after all? A helper. A tool that makes it easier to go from one side to another. Without it, the path would be longer, harder, inconvenient. Life is like that too. Most days, the bridge is there. Things go as expected. But sometimes, the bridge collapses. Suddenly, even the simplest step feels impossible. In those moments, we’re forced to fight—to use every bit of energy we have, both mental and physical, to push forward.
Not everyone makes it through those days. But for those who do, life goes on.
So I want to take a moment to be grateful for bridges. Imagine waking up tomorrow to a world where every bridge was gone. How would life change? Would you be strong enough to keep going?
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