Wooden Bridge By The Canal

Bridges 

Bridges are happy, because they do not judge those who come to them. – Mehmet Murat ildan

Have you ever crossed a wooden plank bridge that you fear will collapse, but you need to cross? 

I have. Many times before.

On Sunday afternoons, we went on MYF visitations of church members who lived on the other side of the canal on Arevalo Street. To do this, we had to cross toward Domingo Santiago along a rickety overpass.

The structure didn't look very strong nor well-made.

It seemed like something that would likely break or collapse any minute.

Did that intimidate me?

No way.

I'd always thought traversing the dilapidated construction was fun.

It was like stepping gingerly across a balance beam. Or walking across a fallen log with hands held out to either side. I'd try to keep my body perfectly in line, fearing the slightest loss of balance could send me tumbling.  

The missing random planks were a challenge. I'd wobble as I went, jumping to safety from beam to beam. 

I had no idea at the time that such action could have been either intimate, even poetic, or tragic.

I just knew that crossing between the gaps was play. 

Because they were there.