Friday, August 11, 2023
These bridges. That I like to go to. In the woods. Made out of wood. One at the back corner of Centennial park. And a newer one erected last year in Mill Creek park. There are many other bridges in both parks. But I am drawn to these two for some reason. Last Sunday. After a brief sojourn at the pavilion, I pedal my way out to Mill Creek. I had fat biked to this bridge on a very cold day last January. I’m not sure if it was the warm forest tea, the simple wooden bench beside it, the freshly fallen dusty snow or the restful solitude in that moment but I fell in love with this spot then and there. The Centennial park bridge has been on my best-loved local whereabouts list for three or four years now. A go-to spot that I have visited numerous times, mostly in autumn. Such an optimized standpoint from which the fall foliage really pops in all directions at that magical time of the year. Falling leaves swaying and dancing to the soothing sounds of the streaming waterway. Many cups of forest tea have been savored in this here location. And then there was the time that I made a new friend with a squirrel when we shared my homemade cookie. Alone. I meditate on the gentle flowing sound of the water below. I feel alive. Recentered. More human. Riding these bikes. Yoga. Meditation. And visiting these sacred bridges. Pursuits that I need to keep practicing. Not as an attempt to become faster, fitter, awakened or better in any way. But simply to bring me back to a certain baseline of normalcy. These proven physical rituals. The daily medicine that I need in order to be able to function like the so called sane people in this world. My edge dulling therapy. A few days without and my mind and body remind me that not practicing simply isn’t an option anymore. For me. At this point in my life. It really is that simple. These bridges. Reconnecting the parts of me that have slipped apart from me.