bridges and baptism by water

Yesterday was about washing the old job out of my hair.

And bridges, metaphorically and literally. On  an idyllic warm spring day I ventured to my usual Titlow Beach before the long-planned walk to the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, oft viewed in the distance from my shoreline spot. Come and walk with me.

Ever the beginning.

Rocks draped with thick squishy seaweed. Am I the only one who spots the smiling alien?

Following the train tracks to the bridge …

and through the forest we go. All but one tree pointed in the same direction. I know how it feels.

Over the train tracks do we step on the first bridge of the day…

and over the bridge we go.

From the bridge midpoint my destination nears.

Still another world beneath the bridge

The Tacoma Narrows Bridge from an uncommon vantage point.

Destination reached! … sort of

Uh-oh, getting there requires bypassing an electric fence and ascending a slippery slope …

fingernailing it upward, I come face to face with floral bells.

Success! Kind of. I walk briefly, aiming to cross from one side to the other. But four lanes of speeding traffic and deafening roar trigger a panic attack. A single shot will have to do before I pull a U-turn and high-tail it off.

Auf wiedersehen …

Back to water … to the beginning …

The evening closes with viewings of traveling seals, a sandy surprise encounter with friends new and newer, dogs and a courageous plunge into the chilly waters of Puget Sound … celebrating the end of a dreary dreadful job and a day of life.

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