All right. More art along the Pennypack Trail.
On August 8, I walked on the trail, and as always I pass through the intersection of Fetters Mill Road and the trail at the Bryn Athyn Post Office. Remember, the trail used to be a rail line and the post office is a former train station. So this little intersection was a tiny crossroads back in the past.
Now the traffic consists mostly of trail-goers. Especially now, since the small bridge over the Pennypack Creek is closed for (future) repairs or replacement.
I don’t know when the work will begin but I hear there is a plan and a budget. All right. Until then, it makes the area a little more peaceful not to have any cars passing through.
On this day I decided to walk across the bridge. I left the trail, turned left, and started along.
As you can see, the deck of the bridge is open metal mesh.
Oh, I don’t like walking on such a surface. I have to look down to keep my balance and seeing the reflections of the water below – not something I like.
The view of the creek is lovely, though.
At the other end of the bridge are a few houses and a sharp curve. If you drive on this road, you are taking your time and watching out so as not to hit a house or stone wall.
I decided to leave the little cat figurine on the barrier on this end of the bridge.
I stepped back for a longer view of the scene.
Then back I went.
Now you may be wondering about the poetry aspect of this trip. Well, if you follow my poetry blog you know I spend a designated time each week writing (as well as when I feel like it, but I have made an appointment with myself each week for writing, also).
In my most recent session I reflected on the experience of walking on this bridge. Here’s the initial version of this poem – waiting for editing, yes, but I think you will get the feel for what I meant when I said I didn’t like walking on the mesh deck.
halfway across the bridge
open metal lattice for a deck
the shiny water reflecting up
from below. I see trees
wavering in the current
I feel the flicker of them
in my stomach.
I slide my feet along on top of the trees
the knobbly grate
grabbing the soles of my shoes and
I know I know
I will fall through
any one of these four-inch grid sections
that cares to take me each one
a vortex pulling down hard
It’s too much. I veer to the rail
sweep my hand along the scabby metal
sharp rust flakes line up in my palm
in time with my steps and
I don’t care as long as
I can get across this bridge
There you have it, the whole thing, words, art, and photos. Thank you for going along with me.