To be quite honest I have not thought much about our little bridge since its demise. I tend to do that–erase things that  weigh on my heart, I sort of shut down until I can cope with it. It’s been a year, or nearly one, since they hauled our history away and I guess that’s the way I see the departure of the swing bridge–our history-what makes us who we are (or were), being dismissed, forgotten–as if it was never really that important. That bridge MADE US SLOW DOWN.  It made us take time whether we liked it or not. Now it is more, more, faster, faster, bigger, better. To me those things are pretentious, and I only see how these things diminish us as human beings. I like to think that patience is still a virtue, that kindness is love, that honesty is the best policy, that we are our brothers keeper, and that lying is always wrong. But morality has become very muddy here on our island, especially with the local political climate. Shame, shame. Alas, I still love this little strip of sand.  Someone asked me the other day if I ever thought of leaving–“Oh yes,” I replied. “I think about it all the time.” And I was gone for around 20 years once, but I still think there are grains of sand on the beach that I walked on as a kid, teenager and adult. The history is in my heart and this is my home.

QUOTE;  “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.” Henry David Thoreau