Another great picture challenge posted by Indigo Spider on her Sunday Picture Press.
I have picked a pic and, like last week, have written one half of the assignment. I invite any and all comers to write the second part.
Thank you so much to everyone who played along previously. Your work blew me away again and again.
Bridges create possibility. They connect the unconnected. They cross obstacles, linking separate elements to make them one.
I live on the edge of a murky river. When I am in my yard I can see land on the other side of the water. Two large bridges connect that distant land mass to the one on which I live. There is one bridge to leave on, and one bridge to return on. I have never crossed either of those bridges. I will soon.
Those of us born on this side of the bridges are destined to stay here for our whole lives. Those born on the other side of the bridges are the ones who built them and travel on them daily.
They need to eat in order to maintain their concretised existences and there is no room left on their side of the bridges for them to grow food.
So they come to us with large trucks full of waste. We empty the trucks. Then the refrigerated trucks come. And we fill those up with produce we grow. That is the way things are.
Each night I stand on the bank of the murky river. I let the mud squish between my toes. I study the forbidden lights that rise into the black sky on the other side and listen for a whispered name carried on icy gusts as they whip across the waters.
She is there somewhere, one of the lights shining as brightly as the day she came to us in her father’s truck, a young girl with tawdry dark hair and passion in her eyes.