a flash-fiction piece
“What’s down there?,” you ask. I’ll tell you.
Down there is curiosity, insight and awareness; but down there, for me, I’ll confess, is ego and pride.
For I am the Builder of Bridges. Though all you see is a simple means of getting from here to there, a journey so facile it’s over before you’ve paid it any mind. And even if you do slow a pace and look out over the parapet, what do you see? A scene which bears little relevance to your world at that moment. A world apart, merely a view, somewhere, down there. You might see far but you see very little.
“And the Hole?” Be brave, be curious; you must descend it to know…
Behold, the Bridge is not apart from the environment but a part of it. Look how the stones grow from the Earth and blossoming into its three Arches, the sweep of their curvature belying their physical strength, like graceful Atlas cradling the Firmament. See how the old world now embraces the younger pillars, the caress of passing waters, the hug of the road; how the very atmosphere clings to its lofty curves, how it assists the sounds of nature: a ripple, a footfall, the breeze rustling the leaves, a songbird.
“So, why is the hole so small, so narrow?” It’s a fair question, I’ll grant you.
I can only say that the fewer people that know of it, the sweeter it’s rewards will be. And, really, can one such as me, the Builder of Bridges, afford more ego and pride than I already have? The hole is the size that it ought to be, I’ll not say more.