Bridge, another title achieved in Maria’s Antonia’s #2020picoftheweek
The title might say where this is (for those who care to google it). But it doesn’t say how close this bridge is to my heart.
My grandfather helped build this bridge, one of the last things he did before he retired early due to bronchial asthma. It’s in the village where I lived as a child, and where I returned as an adult.
I had to cross this bridge to go to the park… for the swings and the slide when I was younger, to watch the local football team when I was older. When I returned, I lived on the far side of it, so I had to cross it to go see my parents.
What you can’t see in the photo is the newer bridge that runs beside it. When I return these days, I don’t use that new bridge, I use the old. And always I stand there a while to ponder the river. River? It’s little more than a stream. The stream where I fished minnows using jamjars, where I paddled, and where I caught crayfish.
Memories, this bridge is rich in them.