The ground beneath my feet has just shifted.
The moment that it took between changing my weight
from one foot to the other,
between one step and the next,
the ground has moved.
I live on the banks of the River.
I own a house, a home on both sides of the water.
Two houses.
Two homes.
I am equally comfortable in both.
From the outside they are indistinguishable.
The interior reflects the environment it is built on.
But in each there are tell-tale signs of my double life.
Some are obvious to the beholder, others are more subtle.
There are a few even I am oblivious to.
Alas, there is no structure
connecting the two banks, no medium of transport.
How then, you must wonder, do I cross the wide River.
I position myself carefully,
plant one foot firmly on the ground and
stretch, stretch, stretch,
until I'm doing the splits and then
stretch some more.
I have bridged the whole width of the River
in one single step.
I shift my weight.
I arrive.
On the other side.
I live my double life unevenly distributed
between the two riverbanks.
But lately I have been spending more time
in the middle than on either side.
The change took place slowly,
owing to the fact that I started transporting friends and family as well.
They welcomed the diversity enthusiastically,
crossed frequently.
Unfortunately I was the only one
experienced in making the dangerous splits
across the raging River.
I ended up spending most of my time
suspended somewhere in between,
grounded in neither.
Until.
One day.
The moment that it took
between changing my weight from one foot to the other,
between one step and the next,
the ground moved.
The ground beneath my feet shifted.
My feet, planted firmly,
were encased by the surrounding earth, interred.
I became immovable.
With one foot on each bank.
I who had crossed the raging River,
connected the distance for myself and for others time and again,
had become forever suspended between the two riverbanks...
A Bridge.
- Betty Sam Mathew