bridge walkers drivers
sharing the experience
starting day today

In this post covid world I am allowed to work a ‘hybrid’ schedule of Monday and Friday at home and Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday in the office.

My commute takes me out onto a barrier island of America’s east coast where my office is.

They call this part of the world the Low Country because it is, on average, less than 10 feet above sea level and flat.

When we drive to Atlanta, we don’t hit a hill until we get to around Dublin, Georgia.

What this translates to is down here in the low country, unless you are on a beach, there are few views, few places with a view and almost all of the views are from bridges.

If we drive south the first vista is the approaches to the Tallmadge Bridge and then on the bridge itself, over the Savannah River.

If we drive north, we don’t see much until we get to the short bridge to Lemon Island and immediately after that, the long Robert Smalls Bridge over the Broad River.

No sailboats go this way so this bridge is more like a long, flat causeway.

All the way north to Charleston, there are only two other vistas, one over the Whale Branch and the other over the old rice fields next to the Combahee River where Harriet Tubman led a raid during the Civil War that rescued over 700 runaway slaves.

When you drive east towards the Atlantic Ocean, you get a good view of the Calibogue Sound and Skull Creek as you cross over to Hilton Head Island.

The last vista is on the island from the Cross Island Parkway where it crosses Broad Creek.

The last two bridges take you about three stories up so that people who have big sailboats can pass underneath.

I have lived here for 4 years and have yet to see a big sailboat pass under either of these bridges, but that is neither here no there.

From the top of the Cross Island Parkway Bridge is the last vista you get when you visit Hilton Head Island.

Unlike another island I am familiar with, Mackinac Island up in Michigan, Mackinac is a mountain top sticking up out of the Straits of Mackinac that connect Lake Michigan and Lake Huron.

On Mackinac, the further in you go, the higher up you get and any time you turn around, you have a view.

Here on a barrier island, the further in you get, the deeper in the woods you get and the greater chance of meeting an alligator.

So when you cross the Cross Island Bridge you better take in the view.

And usually I do.

Though it worries my wife, if it looks like I will see an interesting sun rise or cloud painting, I will get my phone and snap a few images as I drive over the bridge.

As I have done this so often, I can do this without thinking much about it.

My wife worries that I will get this reversed and think that I have driven over this bridge so often I can drive without thinking much and focus on taking a picture but that hasn’t happened … yet.

It is goofy to say, but I will set my phone back down, get to work and then at some point in my day I think, ‘Hey did I get any good pictures?‘

This morning was cold, clear and cloudless.

Looking at the sky I said to myself that it wasn’t going to be much of a sunrise picture this morning.

I went over the bridge and looked to my left to see the sunrise, I saw first one and then another person on the bridge walkway, both facing the sunrise and both with their phone’s out and up to record the moment.

I wanted to stop and say to them not to bother as this was not much a sunrise.

The black land, blue sky and a ball of yellow that would overwhelm their phone’s ability to record the moment.

Then it hit me.

Most likely there were visitors, tourists, folks who were here just for this week.

They had got up, literally, at the crack of dawn to capture the moment dawn first cracked over the Atlantic Coast.

I thought that these folks were far and away from their usual Wednesday of working and office and commute and they made an effort to see the sunrise and this was their day to see the sunrise and they were going to get a picture of the sunrise so that next week, next month, through the year, they could say, ‘did I get any good pictures?’ could pull out their phone and remind themselves that there were sunrise moments like the one today on the bridge, on a cold, clear, cloudless morning where they could watch the sunrise that made a day at work maybe a little more passable.

Then thought, I get to do this every day.

In that respect, I was happy to share the experience and start our day togather.

glimmeringly
out there the blue sea blue waves
streaked chained with fire

The sun distills a golden light,
The sun distills a silence.
White clouds dazzle across the sky:
I walk in the blowing garden
Breaking the gay leaves under my feet …
Leaves have littered the marble seat
Where the lovers sat in silence:
Leaves have littered the empty seat.

Down there the blue pool, quiveringly,
Ripples the fire of the sun;
Down there the tall tree, restlessly,
Shivers beneath the sun.
Beloved, I walk alone …
What dream is this that sings with me,
Always in sunlight sings with me?

Out there the blue sea, glimmeringly,
Ripples among the dunes.
Blue waves streaked and chained with fire
Rustle among the dunes.

The sea-gull spreads his wings
Dizzily over the foam to skim,
And an azure shadow speeds with him.
The sea-gull folds his wings
To fall from depth to depth of air
And finds sky everywhere.

Variations: XVIII by Conrad Aiken (1889-1973).

Conrad Aiken was born in Savannah, Ga in 1889 and left when he was 11 and moved to Cambridge, Mass.

His relocation came about when his father killed his mother and then himself.

While wikipedia lists many inspirations for his poetry, Aiken himself said Savannah and the South did not play a part.

Mr. Aiken and his 3 siblings were adopted by a great aunt and her husband, Frederick Winslow Taylor of stopwatch and the 19 and a half pound D handled coal shovel fame.

Not sure what any of that has to do with anything but anyone who comes up with and uses glimmeringly to describe watching the ocean is okay by me.

You can visit his grave in Savannah.