Cedar Bridge

Past the town, past the school, past the antique market. The sun works messily over the reclining crops. Then shadows: cedars bend over the trodden, hollow ground. We run past glowing patches.

Finally, the first bridge. The strong wood sounds satisfying. The creek flows beneath my feet. Currents shape the earth of the riverbed below. We stand silently, watching.

Back again. Birch leaves shiver like coins in the wind; the wind that moves my hair. The June sun makes my neck sweat. Under the cedars again, the sun cuts dark shadows on the path. Packed earth and flashing waves of light.

Wide fields, antique market, school, town. Home again.