Footbridge
Each time I run here I stop to love it
a little more, its broken concrete walkway
and crooked handrails straddling
the Leybourne Stream that, even in winter,
is never more than a brusque current
and today is as calm as the pond
it once fed, a century ago, at a corn mill
half a mile from here. It reminds me
there will always be streams and rivers
to cross, some times tentatively
through cold and unforgiving water,
our bare feet trying to find purchase
on the bed, negotiating tree roots and silt.
But most times we are like heroes, our journey
uninterrupted, confidently striding
the span of wood and stone between banks.
One day I will take off my shoes
and wade through, remind myself to be grateful.
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