The Bridge Is Up

Morning light rests across the dashboard as the drawbridge bell starts ringing out.

I’m three cars from the striped arm.

It drops.

Red lights flash.

Beyond the gate, the bridge deck begins to tilt toward the sky.

The clock says 8:43. My appointment begins across town at nine.

I put the car in park before I pick up my phone.

The bridge is up. I may be a few minutes late.

The message says it all. I have said what I need to say.

I lower my shoulders.

I loosen my jaw.

I open my hands and place them flat on my legs.

I let those words set the pace of my day ~

The car behind me rolls forward, stops, and settles in for the wait. In my mirror, the driver looks at the rising span and leans back in his seat.

Maybe you know this kind of shared pause. For a few minutes, we all belong on the river’s schedule.

My breath comes easily.

I accept the whole minute: the clock, the bell, the open bridge, and my place just sitting here.

The bridge is up.

I am here. The bridge, the clock, and the morning move at their own pace.

Through the passenger window, the river opens beside the road.

The water is bright ~ the morning sun shining down and reflecting up.

Sunbeams move across it in long, golden lines. A pelican glides low over the surface, its wings nearly touching the water.

Then a small white sailboat glides into the opening.

A man stands at the wheel.

A brown dog stands at the bow with its nose in the wind.

Our line of cars waits while the sailboat passes beneath the raised bridge.

The dog looks our way as if all of us came here to see him. His tail wags.

I laugh.

The river brings me a white sail, a brown dog, and six bright minutes of morning.

The clock rests at one edge of my view.

The river fills the other.

The clock gives me a number.

The river shows me the morning.

I let this minute be this minute.

“Everything I want is coming to me.”

I made the appointment. I got ready. I got in the car. I sent the message.

When the road returns, I’ll keep moving.

For now, the river brings me a white sail, a brown dog, and six minutes of blissful morning to enjoy.

At 8:49, the sailboat clears the bridge.

The dog keeps facing forward, tongue flapping.

The water closes behind them.

The bridge begins to lower.

Steel settles back toward steel.

The road returns one slow foot at a time.

The river keeps shining.

“I do not rush.”

The bridge settles level.

The striped arm rises.

The car ahead of me moves.

I follow it onto the bridge.

My foot stays light.

I cross the river and think to myself that everything is perfect.

“Something positively amazing is unfolding for me right now.”

The water shines through the steel beside me.

I reach the door at 9:04, calm and ready.

I pause with one hand on the handle.

My shoulders are easy.

I turn the handle.

The door opens.

The day opens with it.

I step through with open hands and think to myself ~

“I do not rush.”

“Everything I want is coming to me.”

“I accept myself, and I accept all that happens.”

“Something positively amazing is unfolding for me right now.”