While visiting family in Minneapolis a few weeks ago, we made an afternoon trip to the Minneapolis Sculpture Park. There was still a foot of snow on the ground in places but the iconic spoon and cherry and other sculptures were intriguing and we enjoyed getting some fresh air. Me being me, I couldn’t help but walk out on the adjoining pedestrian bridge over the freeway. The child in me still delights in rushing traffic below, but the feature that most caught my eye was a wonderful poem written out an overhead girders as you cross. I found the poem after the fact with some online sleuthing. It remains untitled and was written by John Ashbury.

And now I cannot remember how I would have it. It is not a conduit (confluence?) but a place. The place, of movement and an order. The place of old order. But the tail end of the movement is new. Driving us to say what we are thinking. It is so much like a beach after all, where you stand and think of going no further. And it is good when you get no further. It is like a reason that picks you up and places you where you always wanted to be. This far, it is fair to be crossing, to have crossed. Then there is no promise in the other. Here it is. Steel and air, a mottled presence, small panacea and lucky for us. And then it got very cool.

And while we’re on the topic of bridges, I recently impulse bought a wonderfully designed small book called Bridges of the World which artfully explores the topic. It was delightful.