Water Under the Bridge


Photo: Copyright Al Forbes


Visiting time again. Standby for the Grandkids! They’ll probably want to know about more stories about my bridge. I tell them that I built it with my bare hands, back in the day.

The bridge has been a focal point to me over the years. Many’s the time I’ve leaned over the edge and told my troubles to the flowing water underneath. And they’ve all been carried off to who-knows-where. Maybe there’s a part of the sea that holds all my sadness and worries. And a better part where the good things I’ve lost are all there waiting for me. My lovely Alice, for a start.

I don’t go there anymore, at least not physically. I ask the staff, but they say there’s never enough of them on-shift to drive me over there. I’d wheel myself if I could. but my weak arms couldn’t get me further than the TV room.

The staff think I have an afternoon nap everyday. But I’ve got them all fooled. Since I read that “Creative Visualisation” book off the Volunteer’s trolley, I’ve learnt to take myself to the bridge in my mind. In fact, if my daughter and the kids don’t show up in a couple of minutes, that’s where I’ll be heading.


This is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction, January 26th 2014, hosted by Al Forbes. For more details, please click the link. 

To read the other stories, click on the logo. 


22 thoughts on “Water Under the Bridge

  1. I like this a lot. I can see it playing out in a movie where they can’t find him in his room, and he’s mysteriously at the bridge. Thanks for a sweet if somewhat sad story, Steve.

  2. That was a little sad but also nice that he can still visit the bridge in his mind. I like the idea of him telling his troubles to the river and having them all wash away.

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