A bridge leading to pasturesunheraldedopportunitiesuntapped,consequential, fertile…Ground to be tilledyielding a harvestunderpromised, overdelivered.Asthose blessings in abundancebeckontocomehither.Doors openthat were oncesealed shutissuesarrayed, hidden, camouflagedcuttinglike a scalpel, are made palpable.Subjected to wither away.
Published by Shun P. Writes
Author, Genealogist, Writer, Poet, Podcast Host, possessor of 2 cents, Blogger and eternal student of life, who harbors a firm belief in his Grandmother's mantra that: "People need to get off of their rump and do something". All while keeping in mind that a cheering section will often get in the way. View all posts by Shun P. Writes
Love those pictures. I’m starting to think I have an unexplored love of old bridges.
You probably do Godless, I found that I had one, buried deep down.
Beautiful–I love how you splice the words with the pictures. 🙂
Thank you Michelle, it is something about these scenes or being in that element that pulls something out of me.