Rusty Bridge

I step onto an old rusty bridge,
that overlooks a slow flowing creek.
A turtle slides into the water from a nearby rock, 
and disappears beneath the surface.
A snake swims toward the rusty bridge.
Acknowledging my presence, 
its body sinks beneath the water;
while its head remains on the surface, 
observing the observer.
My weight shifts on the old bridge’s wooden planks.
The planks groan beneath my feet, 
and I grip the bridge’s cool, metal railing.
The snake escapes to the edge of the creek;
it slithers into the tall grass that lines the banks.
The grass extends into a lush green meadow.
A beautiful vista unfolds 
from my vantage point atop the rusty bridge.
I watch the butterflies dance 
among the meadow’s wildflowers,
and listen to the distant birdsong 
from the trees that line the meadow.
I lose myself in the surrounding beauty.
As the birdsong fades with the setting sun, 
I reluctantly abandon the old rusty bridge.