The Bridge at Dusk

Every evening at about 7:30 I walk across the old footbridge over the river on my way home from work. I've done it a thousand times. Last Tuesday I actually stopped.

The sky was going orange and pink. The river had turned the same color. A couple of teenagers were fishing off the railing and chatting in Vietnamese. A man rode by on a bike with a little dog in the basket wearing goggles. Swallows were zipping under the bridge, catching bugs.

I stood there for fifteen minutes. My phone buzzed and I ignored it. The fishing teenagers caught a catfish and showed it to me proudly before throwing it back.

It's strange how something can be in your life every day and still surprise you. Now I stop on the bridge at least once a week, on purpose.