Clouds obscure the moon, and
A chorus of crickets call
There is wind in the trees –
A storm is coming.
Trees toss and bend
Torrents of water
Wash along the shore
A break in the clouds
And the Androscoggin rolls
in the moonlight.
I stand to watch a flash of lightening
And hear a deafening crash of thunder
On the walking bridge
Which sways beneath my feet.
I grip the railing with a cold, wet hand.
A man drowned the other day
Jumping from this bridge.
The current took him.
Yellow light in the distance are houses
One is my destination.
I walk the swinging bridge
Iron cables thick and strong.
Wooden boards bend beneath my feet.
My coat is lashed by wind and water.
I am cold to the bone
As I make my way toward home.
~Doug Palmer