The Old Bridge

The man had just crossed the old bridge. Behind him the rugged, high mountains, on the other side the lavish green forest. He took a left into what seemed to be a little garden. From there he could take a good look at the bridge and the water passing through below it.

He suddenly had tears in his eyes.

Turning to his companion of many years, he felt tremendous joy.

“How many bridges have we crossed together?” he said.

He hugged him and said “Too many to count. And we even created bridges, where and when it seemed impossible to cross.”

“That’s the essence of life”, he whispered, “to cross bridges together and create them, where they are needed, because they can only be built from love.”

   Without a need for more words they just stood there in the brisk spring air listening to the river and watching the bridge.