Yesterday my post started with a photo of the Zuivelbrug bridge.  Here’s another:

I see a cap, a top hat and a bowler hat.  Mostly that fashion is no more.  I see an ancient building marked “105” that I walk by every day.

So many people over the centuries have stood on the Zuivelbrug, in one of its incarnations.  They’ve chatted with their friends.  They’ve looked over the railing at the little black ducks.  Perhaps they’ve got down on one knee and asked their loved one to marry.

Where are they now?  Their bodies are no longer here but do their spirits return to reminisce about the Leie?  Do they remember the bad jokes shared with a giggle?  Do they remember plagues that brought their beloveds low?

Those who have gone before … so easily they are invisible to us modern folks.  Their joys and sorrows so similar to our own.  Their backs hurting under a heavy load … just like us.

Did earlier ones gaze up in wonder at the sculptures embedded in 105?  I know I do.  Perhaps those quiet moments bind me to the dreamers of centuries past.  My long ago sisters and brothers.

I imagine my feet on the cobblestones, covering the lingering footsteps of prior humans.  “Thanks for coming to see us,” I hear.  You’re most welcome.

May my eyes soften so I see we Gentians entwining

And so I glimpse the fullness of past residents