The View from the Bridge

We were freshmen.
What did we know?
When our acting teacher walked
us out of our classroom,
down Commonwealth Avenue
and onto the BU Bridge....
we followed.
At the edge of the bridge he told us that,
as a group,
we were going to cross the bridge...
in
slow
motion.
So
on that sunny, fall day,
some thirty or so years ago,
I crossed the bridge for the first time.
It took over an hour.
My fifty something self looks back and wonders why this slow-motion-group
didn't cause any accidents.
My twenty something self just did it.
And took in the view.
Memorized it.
Little did I know on that day
that these waters,
these buildings...
this view...
would become all I need to see
to know that I am home.


As I stood on that same bridge this past Sunday, my heart was full.
I could see the hotel where I spent my wedding night.
I could see the apartment where we welcomed our first born.
I could see the rowers and the sailboats...the bridges, the history...
I could practically see the fourth of July fireworks, and my husband crossing the long bridge
with his baby girl strapped to his chest.
And to top it all off, the leaves are turning.
New England is at it's best....
Adorned with color for me this weekend as it was so many years ago.

Please join me on Friday 10/12 for Six Word Fridays. We're linking up right here on my blog and this week's word is LIGHT. {click on the tab at the top for details!}