Where the River Knows

Crossing into Tennessee, I wasn’t leaving something behind or rushing toward what’s next—I was simply here. My son drove, and for once, I wasn’t clinging to control of the wheel. I could watch the river glisten, the bridge stretch its iron frame across the sky, and just be present in the ride. No music, only conversation and the rhythm of the road. A bridge becomes more than wood and steel when you realize it has held the weight of countless crossings — each traveler carrying a different story, each one stepping into the unknown in their own way

Yet for me, the crossing was not about arrival. It was about surrendering to the moment, letting the unknown hold me without needing an answer. The river ran steady below, the bridge stood firm above, and between them both, I found myself learning—again—that presence is enough.

Echoes Above Waters

The bridge hums low, its secrets keep,
above the waters, dark and deep.
Steps uncertain, shadows near,
yet something calls—no need for fear.

A hidden shore, unseen, untold,

awaits the heart that dares let go.

Within the beams, the current flows,

guiding all where the river knows.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai