‘scuse me

I crossed the Spruce Street Suspension bridge early this morning, like 6:25, and lingered twice along the way, the moon sharing lighting responsibility with the still-rising sun, the sounds of five hundred birds welcoming another Tuesday. The canyon below the bridge, say 90 feet down, is as wide as a football field in some places, half that others. A variety of trees grace the space, including palm trees and succulents, the bodies of stumps from some other time sleeping in the green and brown grasses. Off to the south, some of the skyscrapers of downtown.

I have a plan to come out onto the bridge, on a warm and sunny day, and spend an hour there, in the same spot. Just looking. Just listening. Feeling the breeze I see leaning the thin eucalyptus one way, then another. Thoreau, in ‘Walden’, writes about pulling his chair into his open doorway, there just up from the pond, early morning, and then – “Lo” – the sounds of travelers returning from their day’s work. All those hours come and gone, sitting in the chair, not separate from the day, or the small birds flying into and back out of the cabin. That’s how I want to be on the bridge.

I was thinking about Jimi Hendrix earlier, especially, “‘Scuse me while I kiss the sky.” I’m not sure if it’s relevant to hanging out in the middle of a suspension bridge, though it could be. I just have always thought it’s a very cool line.