The Bridge

I got a special treat tonight. After driving from Provo to Syracuse, I had to drive to Roy, then to Morgan, back to Roy, then finally back to Syracuse. It probably added about two hours to my trip, but I got to visit one of my favorite places that I wouldn't have been able to see otherwise. This special place is a bridge, plain and simple, that goes over the train tracks in an old worn down part of town. The bridge in and of itself is quite unspectacular, but as I cross over the top of the bridge, everything changes. At the very peak I can see over all the houses, powerlines, and fences, and the distant horizon is unvieled. I get to see the great Salt Lake, Antelope island, mountains, and miles and miles of house tops below, if even for a split second.

As I drive up the bridge, I feel like I'm approaching the surface of a deep pool. For a brief moment, I break the surface and gasp for air, taking a deep breath before I plunge back into the world. I like to coast up the bridge, slowing down as much as possible to prolong the promised moment of freedom. For an instance, all the burdens of life are lifted. The captivity of daily life and stagnant routines is left behind, and the world is before me.

I don't know why, but I've never stopped and walked over the bridge, taking time to stand at highest point and just gaze into the distance. Maybe it's because I always passed the bridge on my way home from work, and I just wanted to finish the day and relax. Maybe it's because some things are best when they are rare, and standing at the peak of the hill would ruin the poetry that I found each evening. Maybe it's because people just don't take time to enjoy life like they should.

Someday when I build a house, I plan to have a room on top of the highest point. The walls will be made of glass, and the room will have no purpose but to sit, to glance at forever, and to be inspired.