bridges - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I have sat at the rivers edge, a stone in hand, and wondered what it would take to build a bridge. For in this village we have many that carry us over the network of rivers, built in the time when horses and bicycles were the fastest way to get around.
Though the seasons changed the bridges remained the same, only made different by the sunlight or the dappling effect of the clouds. The grass waned in the winter and came back strongly every spring, as did the leaves and the new birds. Beneath it the river swelled and declined, so shallow in late August that the local children would wade right across it just to feel the cooling effect of the water.
The bridges were sheets of metal made bumpy with the rivets, visually at odds with the countryside that rolled. There was something unsettling about them, almost military, and when the convoy crossed over it was with a colossal roar of engine amid the diesel fumes that choked.
It arched elegantly over the clear blue river. At first glance, the river seemed serene and peaceful, but underneath the surface were violent currents that would whisk away anyone who dared touch it. The stone bridge was the only way to cross it, for the deadly river split the entire land in half. It had been built by the men of ancient times. Stone by stone, they had tediously laid the foundation. The swirling waters, shimmering in the sunlight, were only waiting to engulf its next victim. The mighty bridge was the only way to reach her village and now it was shrouded in blackness. One could feel evil emanating from the area. No one had crossed the bridge since the evil feeling had come. Evelyn would be the first.
The bridges were wide with high sides, peaceful as the river roared far below. Kyla stopped to admire the bright green paint, imagining how scary it must have been to be dangled from the sides on ropes to paint them. Though the rails were metal, the support beams too, the top was wooden, no doubt the planks being cut from some of the tall trees in the forest they'd just passed.
The bridges that led to the boarder were deliberately impressive. Our neighbors to the north did not have our industrial capabilities and we liked them to realize our superiority. Intimidating them was important to our economic plan. The bridges had been designed by a 3D artist who worked in the movies and made real by a team of top flight engineers. They looked like they were dreamed into existence rather than constructed. Everything flowed, there were no rivets or bolts. They bore fancy names and had signs to welcome the incomers who flooded in to work for pennies.
The bridges were little more than a series of hastily erected structures of steel. They were soulless but solid and safe. Once the delta had been home to some of the world's best. They had been built in stone with an architecture that reflected their spiritual heritage. But when The Others had come they blew them up themselves and it broke their hearts to do it. Now the battles were won, they had at first stayed in their own district, but then later they set out to colonize their enemy and teach them civilized culture.
In those days the bridges were built with caution. Closing the gaps between the towns was risky, for their trading partners were friends and foes. Should trade be good they were as brothers, should there be times of shortage the chance of a war-party increased. And so the builders made them in a way that leant itself to their easy dismantling - just one beam removed in one place and the structure was ready to fall to the river below.
The bridges were the pride of the region, great arcs of stone that defied gravity. Seen from over the valley they were a sign of home to all that lived and loved that dale.