Photo courtesy of me!
The pilings are all that is left of the Juanita Slough bridge which spanned the north end of Lake Washington in the late 1800s. They bring to mind the past when I walk by them and create a unique merger of natural and man-made. I like to think about the people who lived along the shore when it was at its heyday. I love how the pilings are now hosting new growth, a reminder that we all can start over, become something new.
Word count: 101
Standing at the end of the bridge, Lizzie strained to see through the gloom. He promised to come but she couldn’t stay long or she’d have to explain herself. That would never do. Father had eyed her suspiciously as she made her excuses to walk the shoreline.
Please…she whispered, part prayer, part pleading. In their few short months, they’d shared stolen moments, making their memories last in between. It was never enough.
Out of the dim, she saw his fedora bent against the rain coming toward her. Heart aching, Lizzie practiced the words she must say. “They’ve promised me to another…”
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© Erin Leary