The autumn has finally come. Each morning is dryer and cooler than the day before it. A bridge spans the distance between to place, two ideas, two sides. As a vision we sit with hook and line slightly drifting attempting to hook the dreams, the dreams we envisioned in our youth.
I stand on one bridge looking out over another thinking back to those dreams of two bridges side by side. One that was rusted and flat reaching far into the horizon, the other arching up into the sky. Two ways to cross from here to there, which one I would choose would determine a course in my life.
Here I am thousands of miles away thinking back to the flicker of my mind images as a stranger in a strange land. Fishing for those dreams, casting the soul into the current. Sharpening the hook to catch the spirit.