6:00 am. Dark. Breezy and 31 degrees. I put on a couple layers of warmth, hat, gloves, tie my walking shoes and head out the door. Within 3 minutes, I'm on the Brooklyn Bridge.
The bridge is different in the early morning before commuters and tourists clog her narrow pedestrian/bike lanes. She's quiet, calm, perhaps still asleep, although the rumble of traffic lanes below begin to jostle her awake.
a curve reflection
the enduring presence of a flag
I recently watched a PBS documentary about the construction of the bridge. Much of the information I had already researched and written in an earlier blog posting. I knew the history, but it wasn't until a quote by Arthur Miller at the end of the film, that I truly begin to reflect on the bridge's significance. Mr. Miller said that John Roebling's design could have been purely functional, a pathway from one side to the other.
"But he aspired to do something gorgeous."
"Steel poetry," Miller called it.
"It makes you feel that maybe you, too, could add something that would last and be beautiful."
As the sky lightens and I leave the bridge's company, she reminds me of the possibilities in each day,
to add something that [will] last and be beautiful.
The bridge is different in the early morning before commuters and tourists clog her narrow pedestrian/bike lanes. She's quiet, calm, perhaps still asleep, although the rumble of traffic lanes below begin to jostle her awake.
I meet a few other early more exercisers, but there are long stretches where the bridge and I are
alone.
Today I take my camera. It slows me down,
alone.
Today I take my camera. It slows me down,
forces me to notice. . .
spiderweb of steel
the enduring presence of a flag
I recently watched a PBS documentary about the construction of the bridge. Much of the information I had already researched and written in an earlier blog posting. I knew the history, but it wasn't until a quote by Arthur Miller at the end of the film, that I truly begin to reflect on the bridge's significance. Mr. Miller said that John Roebling's design could have been purely functional, a pathway from one side to the other.
"But he aspired to do something gorgeous."
"Steel poetry," Miller called it.
"It makes you feel that maybe you, too, could add something that would last and be beautiful."
As the sky lightens and I leave the bridge's company, she reminds me of the possibilities in each day,
to add something that [will] last and be beautiful.
Well, these pictures are certainly beautiful!
ReplyDeleteSteel poetry. I love it.
That phrase really caught my attention, too!
ReplyDeletetwylla , twylla , twylla . . . your photos are unbelieveable &
ReplyDeletetotally echo your sentiments . . . thanks again ~