John McCullagh September 9, 2008
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Boy, was that place overgrown? But where was the bridge? It had to be there somewhere.

At last, after rounding a slight bend in the river, there it was, my bridge! It was still standing! But how everything had changed! The bridge was almost completely buried under a dense covering of green foliage. The creeping green vegetation and vines that were growing along the old railway track had grown up and over the bridge’s parapet and were hanging right down to touch the water below.  The high willow trees on the bank each side of the bridge were leaning over and crying their leaves into the river.

 

The bridge, when viewed through this green tunnel of branches and leaves looked so melancholy and sad.  Once it was proud and strong carrying upon its broad back the commerce and trade of a nation, and then afterwards when the railway had gone it became an adventure play park for children. But now it stood sad and neglected, unloved, buried under the creeping foliage with only the gurgling song of the river below to remind it of past glory.

… that old bridge …..

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