A bridge leading
to pasturesunheraldedopportunitiesuntapped,consequential, fertile…
Ground to be tilledyielding a harvestunderpromised, overdelivered.Asthose blessings in abundancebeckontocomehither.Doors openthat were oncesealed shutissuesarrayed, hidden, camouflaged
cuttinglike a scalpel, are made palpable.Subjected to wither away.
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Published by Shun P. Writes
Author, Genealogist, Writer, Poet, 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.
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You probably do Godless, I found that I had one, buried deep down.
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Beautiful–I love how you splice the words with the pictures. 🙂
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Thank you Michelle, it is something about these scenes or being in that element that pulls something out of me.
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