Kim Kelly
The Bridge is old and cranky and weary
of separation from the land.
The moss takes its toll silently,
Daily.
Home to the proud fox sparrow – she warns of her presence,
constantly.
And dances a jig on the wood to scrape insects from
their hidey holes.
The leopard slug and those less ornate fulfill their mission
Of crossing more quickly than you think possible.
And the curlicue snail in search of
something tasty be it female or food,
finds his mate mid-board and shares his love dart.
In clear view of searching birds, they nonetheless languish in snail love for hours,
tempting fate.
Amongst the ubiquitous blackberry bushes,
a flash of orange – the crown of a curious kinglet.
The sun passes and under a dusky moon
bear, deer, raccoon and opossum find the easy trail
and memorize the paces across
as the leaves fall and slowly disintegrate to feed the mycorrhizal networks below.
The fir and hemlock trade nutrients with their cousins;
ravenous fungi the benefactor and benefiter,
the unseen connection amongst vertical ascendants.
The bridge bends to the left twice – to accommodate the hill and the creek.
Which makes it appear to disappear.
What’s on the other side is the Other and the Other is unknown for now.
And yet it stands
immersed in the gravity of time.