Faced with this bridge, spanning over a dead marsh leading to the sea. I panicked. It’s not comfortable to be surrounded by so much death. Who’s fault is this? How did this happen? Why didn’t someone clean this up? Why do I feel so uncomfortable? These questions and my own fear of mortality challenged by forward motion, I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to leave, but couldn’t bare to continue.
Slowly walking plank to plank in the dying light, I felt like a portal awaited only to be disappointed when I reached the end.
I crossed this bridge to nowhere three more times on our journey, each time the trepidation felt less and less, which was worse than initial panic.