Birthday of the bridge

I'm proud of the bridge, and happy to have it in my life.

It's there every day for me, from the moment I open the venetian blinds in the morning to the moment I close them, very often late at night.

The bridge gives me hope, a quality I otherwise don't put much stock in, believing that hope is a form of a type of magical thinking I am tempted to indulge, much to the displeasure of reality, if there is such a thing.

This morning the bridge is smothered in onions and the sky has the tint of the biscuits and gravy special I used to order at the counter of Duke's Coffee Shop on Pico the morning after excessive drinking. But that was long ago and in Los Angeles, a  city not noted for its bridges.