When I captured this image, I kept thinking one day thoughts would flow as they sometimes do, but everything that comes to mind are things better left unsaid. The new bridge sits between the old bridge and the trestle track, but I drove across the old road, parked, and captured this image.
As beautiful as it may seem, this spot on God’s green earth will never hold fond memories for me, but only memories which make my chest ache from holding back tears which threaten to overwhelm me. It’s a place of departure, regret, rejection, and a feeling as isolated as the location itself. Oh, what I would give to say I’d never have to lay eyes on it again, but for the time being a piece of my heart lies exposed on this old road where the coyotes freely roam and bear their young under the trestle track.
— i said that
Oh, my ways are strange ways and new ways and old ways, and deep ways and steep ways and high ways and low. I’m at home and at ease on a track that I know not, and restless and lost on a road that I know.
— Henry Lawson said that