Bridging the past

This bridge is a balm for my soul. My quiet place, where I can come and watch the sunrise, where the spring breeze dances over the water and touches my hair and face with gentle fingertips just after dawn. This bridge is where I find sanctuary.

My morning jogs often bring me here—a tiny detour, just another five minutes of the day. The extra effort is worth it for the peace and solitude.

To the East is a different bridge, a darker shadow on the river. There’s evil lurking on that bridge which I avoid. My sister attempted flight.

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Inspired by this week’s Picture It & Write prompt:

by Gustav Johansson