Under water

In Camp Sherman today I tried to photograph two footbridges. (I can't show you the photo because some computer cords went missing during our move.) My mother-in-law built one of the bridges when she laid some planks across the mud so that she could walk from her house to the meadow without losing a shoe; she built it a few years ago and now it's partially decomposed, lying under a few inches of clear, cold water. Above that old bridge, just barely above the water, is a new one built by my mother-in-law's oldest son: four wooden rails laying side-by-side. Neither bridge was ever especially sturdy. The original bridge had a wang in it, so that when you crossed your weight dipped you into the water. The rails my brother-in-law put down are strong, but they roll.

I thought about those bridges all day today. Someone placed a few leftover pieces of wood across the mud: a bridge. The bridge was nice but then it drooped too much and so someone else, someone younger and stronger, found some more wood and placed it across the mud. For awhile the two bridges stood together, sort of overlapping, until one winter that first bridge collapsed.

But also, you know, the first bridge is still there. It's still visible under the water, not shadowy like a dream but perfectly clear. You could touch it if you wanted.

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I've rewritten this post five times. It's been shorter each time. Now it's 1:30am and this version seems to make the most sense but who knows? I can't believe I wrote all my college essays at this time of the morning. Imagine the grades I'd have gotten if I wrote at, say, 11:30pm.