Amidst the Mists: The Bridge (1)

He opened his eyes and they looked out at the nighttime darkness of a cozy room, but he didn’t even see that.

The image before him was that of a bridge.

The most beautiful, unrealistic bridge he’d ever seen.

A fairy bridge. Made of lights, colors, and threads.

And he had seen it before.

He had run from it before.

That night…

He steadied himself in his mind. No more running.

Besides, what was frightening about a bridge? Even an unworldly one? Even one created by fairies and woven by spiders with spider-thread? Ones that caught the silver-and-gold light and turned it to dancing rainbows of dancing color?

He looked the bridge over carefully, in his mind.

He had seen pictures of bridges built that way, he knew with certainty. Huge steel behemoths, towering over waters, the bridging held up by what looked to be fine dainty fibers but were actually metallic cables somehow spun together to bear great weight, but with flexibility.

He thought maybe he had actually seen one, without the colors and the soft focus. Real ones. Or maybe only one.

But where? He’d had to travel, at times, but those times he tried to keep few and far between, and also short. He had never liked being away from home for long, even before he had married and started with the children.

Home was everything, and the best part of traveling for his work was when he could return home, whether as a success or a failure. It all worked out.

It always worked out.

After he got home.




It didn’t really matter where he had seen such a bridge (New York, maybe?), he just knew that he had.

There was some comfort to be found that an actual bridge designer, working with real and modern materials, had seen such a bridge and figured out how to build one. He’d made it real.

It was a real thing, in the world.

Not, he reminded himself, made of cobwebs and moonbeams, but still real. The cobwebs and moonbeams were for the future. Something for the young to aspire to.




The thing about the bridge – he studied the mental image once more. The bridge didn’t end. It arced, and it faded into the distance, the bridge lights mingling with the stars. The bridge wasn’t swallowed by fog, or obscured by scenery. It was there, and you looked as far as you could see, and it was still there, and then there was a point where you could no longer separate it from its background. The words ‘blur’ and ‘fade’ were inadequate to this great light-based phenomena, but they were the best he had.

The important thing about the bridge wasn’t its style or even its existence.



The important thing about the bridge was its load.

Carventure for the Knees: First of Three

Let me tell you about my carventure today.
It was great fun, as it always is, when I set out on my own, in my trusty rusty automobile.

First, I had to remove the blankets draped over the window that won't close. We had hella storms over the weekend and winds and tornado warnings and all the good stuff as kitten-cub March roared it's way out as a full grown bull-mad lion. So I had protected the car and contents as best I could. All that had to be undone before I could go anywhere. Blankets on the windows tend to limit the driver's ability to see out, and that's not really good in gray-day situations. (Although it wasn't actually raining by then.)

Next I needed gas. Well, my knees have been bad all week, and, it was, in fact, for my knees that I was going out, so I went to the gas station here in town -- hometown tradition; Wichard's -- where they will pump the gas without having to be informed of a disabled person's presence. We're just like normal people to them!
There appeared to be no other customers waiting, there were no autos in the service bay, and not even the stand-around chit-chatters (generally known in the service industry as the Liars Club. Every business has them.)
I didn't think the 'service person' was ever coming out.I was wondering if I was going to have to go somewhere else and DIY it. But, having worked as customer service, I know that the slow times are when you have to go do the extras in the back room (or equivalent,) and so I waited.

Finally.  
Got my gas.
And a light came on on the dash, one that I never even knew existed. One word, SECURITY in red (not orange) lights. Car was running; no knocks, pings, or heartbeat thumps. Brakes were holding well. Temperature gauge was reading normal, so I proceeded with my drive down to Five Mile Road.
Everything worked as it should all the way there. I did the safety stuff -- long stop times, staying back, not getting too close, keeping in the outside lane.
At one point my cruise control turned itself on. That was interesting, as I was approaching a stoplight in an interstate ramp area.
Got there with no further excitement, parked, went in, got a goopy and painful shot in both knees, and headed back out.
The security light did not come back on when the car restarted.
Going home, yay!
As I turned off the road onto the highway to home, that darned old low oil light came on and stayed on.
Same engine check; no pings, clatters, or thumps, no getting hot, no unexplained or unusual noises. So I continue on, thinking I'll stop somewhere for a nosh, and while there I'll see if the reboot -- I mean restart -- thing will work it's magic once again. So at an approximate halfway spot I did just that. Went to a drive-thru, had to turn the key off to be heard on the speaker (my car, like myself has some type of bronchitis and chronically breathes very loudly)
And guess what!
It did indeed work again, and I made it home with my lunch and to my ice packs and my bed.!
Whew!
What a journey to start my week.