Bridged
Between the South and North Brisbane (South goes first because they are superior), the Brisbane river snakes through the suburbs and quietly falling to the Bay. In the span of two and a bit kilometres, there were five bridges. Until recently, that is. Today, we (myself and maybe yourself included) found that there are six. Let’s keep the argument aside that we need that many bridges. As a pedestrian, I can’t even complain.
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I travel one of the six bridges three, four, sometimes five times a week. Each week, I saw the white curious pole claimed the skyline slowly and curiously. Then in a rush, at a day I was impervious to, the steel ropes took root and the white walkway reached, touched, and decided to stay.
That’s the thing with this bridge. Having passed it so many times, why today? Was it really today? Or was it just sitting there under my nose for weeks while I looked down, to the right, and to the beautiful sunset?
Then there was the design. The thick white seemingly continuous pole, started on the South bank, and ended in the middle of the river like a an unfinished story. Deceptively! Maybe that’s where I was looking; at the decorative line that seemed distant from the shore and never reaching. Never noticing that what truly mattered was already settling and unmoving. That even if the building on the other end isn’t built, the bridge was already there and lasting.
Foggy morning sun
picture from my balcony
sitting in the draft
