The Little Bridge That Could've
A stone bridge stands at the base of a small hill, overlooking the Connecticut River. Its arches are weathered and at first glance, the bridge appears to be out of place in the backdrop of brick, glass, and copper. Its patinated stones gently fall into order, forming a path that connects one end to the closest brick building. With its age and placement at the heart of the complex, it’s clear that the bridge is the predecessor of the surrounding structures. But what once stood as a centerpiece has now fallen victim to the grasp of time and modernity. Rising mounds of earth slowly engulf the stone columns while steel girders and iron fences cling to the bridge, supporting a brick patio that shackles it to the adjacent buildings. The weight of these shackles has crippled the bridge, and now bright yellow bands hold together what were once proud archways of granite. Under these bands, white veins of salt that accumulated over the years permeate the granite cracks and threaten ever so slightly the idea of collapse. As the bridge emerges from the hillside its towers of granite, which never had a foundation from which to rise, catch our gaze. All paths connect to the bridge, but it itself is a bridge that leads nowhere.