Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge
STROLLING ACROSS THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE at night in mid-February. It was windy, it was cold, it was awesome. The huge braided cables stretched overhead. Manhattan sparkled in a wooshing, manic light show. The big supports of the bridge are rough gray stone laid over 100 years and ago and seeing them I am reminded that there are things in this country that are built to last.
There is something about walking across a big bridge that puts me in a wistful mood. The drop below, the stretch of water and the looming city all conspire with the wind and Atlantic air to force me into the moment. No daydreams, no regret or anxiety. I don’t even really care if I make it to the other side.
Maybe when I get too caught up in The Shit and my head starts to rotate on its axis I should take it as a sign that I need to find a bridge. Not to fling myself from but to stroll across for no particular reason.