Dear Bridge no.17

Dear bridge no17 , I know you are not mine and that your an ex railway line that nature has in some part reclaimed and grown over , but I feel we are friends your red and grey Victorian bricks , the impressive sandstone pillars sitting incongruously amounts to nettles and hawthorn, spanning the tiny village river. But when I stand and lean over the edge to watch the river flow I feel incredibly welcome and at home , observing the birds feeding from the river,the sheep coming down beneath me for a drink. I watched the river slowly change the edge of the banks and the soil disappear and creep into the river bed. I ve stood here with a flask and sketchbook trying to capture the changing seasons of winter spring umber and autumn , those precious weeks where the tree tops are purple with new growth and then all is green, when the snow covers every surface and all is monochromatic. I watched as subtle graffiti appears and disappears from your walls , humans temporarily marking their territory here time does not matter and I feel I could stand in the same spot and watch the patterns of nature’s lives play out . I know it’s reassurance of sun warmed bricks and ash trees will greet me like an old Friend and we can stand and watch nature flow by together .