As I said before, I love the wild places. The lonely places. Places where man’s influence is hard to feel. That kind of solitude can leave a person feeling tiny, insignificant even. Or it can leave you feeling huge, too big for the space you’re in.

Waiting for the bus…

Foggy days, though dreary, leave me a little claustrophobic. I often liken it to a curtain or shroud in poetry, and for me, it’s a fitting description. When you’re driving down the road and the fog is so thick you can barely see the front end of your car, it can feel suffocating. Of course, if I’m at home when the fog rolls in and I don’t have to leave the house, then I feel more cozy than trapped.

On the other hand, when you can see for miles, it’s very easy to feel very small. A leaf on the wind. And yet, that can be an amazing feeling, to know that you’re a part of something so big and that, though small, your actions can profoundly impact the world around you.

Take the man – men – who built this bridge. They probably expected it would be used forever, or at least for a very long time. They built it to last, and last it has.

But the trains don’t run through here no more.

It’s a picturesque little spot on the river, though, and I’d love to go back one day with my camera and my sense of adventure. There’s something about the wild, lonely places that draws me in every time…

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