Global Gallery

Bridge

I went underneath the bridge last night. It’s such an empty place so rocky, so dark and lonely. I was thinking, "all these things underneath this bridge, (plastic forks, soup tins, grocery cart wheels, broken camera, metal crate, bottles, stones), all of it, the remnants of someone's desperate hour or hours, someone's shadowy escape. Why do I find myself looking at this trash. But is it trash? It was once touched by human fingers." It is like some monastary. It just feels good to be out and watch the world, even the lonely world, or lost civilization(s) underneath the bridge.

United States