In this nearby town there are many bridges. Here in one spot are four. Three depicted in this photo. The green one, with a brown one behind it. And on the right, another brown one hard to see.
Plus this one to the left. There are numerous others in another part of the town.
I am on a bridge from the person I was and have been for many years. I don't know where my bridge leads but I am not entirely lost. If I just put one foot before the other, I will get there wherever there is. When you're on a bridge there are only three directions in which you can go. I don't want to go back to where I was. I don't want to jump off. So forward is where my feet will take me.
Those around me, two of them, are on a bridge too. A bridge from this life as a living, breathing person into the unknown (from my perspective) of death. Mom is on a slow trek using her walker to navigate the bridge over waters of old age. SIL awaits her fate, walking with her walker, lying on her bed, the cancer moving though her body at an unknown pace. And I watch them and pray and bake cookies and ham and bring them Poinsettia's as they walk their bridges even as I walk my own.