Before the cabin

There is a cabin
Hillside winding river to open blue sky lake
Creaking pine amber waters damp moss wood smoke
Worn down by love and family and generations
Children now adults and their children, soon adults
Tilting into the mountainside undeterred by working summers
New screens, jack the foundation
Tin roof rain songs at night

But before the cabin, the bridge
Before the cramped car ride ends
Let me out to cross the footbridge
Spanning the river slicing town in two
I’ll walk the rest of the way please

White paint taught silver cables old smooth wood
Step lightly breathe deeply hear the river below
Lean over the rail watch the river flotsam and foam
Think Poohsticks and feel the sway of suspension, the long drive slides away
All of the years, all the of songs and bike rides, flat tires, skinned knees
Glorious slivers of bridge just under the skin, sunburned shoulders and dirty feet
Canoe under, look up, marvel at the magic
All of the bridge’s time in one flash

These are the thoughts in the depths of winter and long school days
The bridge, the cabin, the sweetest days
Across the highways, up the mountains, around the lakes and
Over the bridge

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