Approaching the bridge into Indiana on a warm winter day, I am again struck by the structure of the thing, the joints and bolts, the idea of building high over the river. I think about the people decades ago sketching and erasing and probably smoking a lot. I think about the Yoko Ono album I’ve been listening to in my car, the song “Watching the Dawn”:
Remember, we are descendants
of thinkers and builders.
I turn my head and look back, after going across the bridge this time.