Bridges are often crossroads of imagination. I encountered this scene one fall day when I stopped to check out my favorite fishing spot. It is the underside of the concrete bridge that carries Georgia State Highway 53 over the Amicalola, between Tate and Dawsonville.
Seen from above as one crosses by car, the bridge is only a concrete alleyway, a road between guard rails offering only a glimpse of the river below. The bridge’s beauty its underside. where its powerful supporting arch frames the waterway. I question why so robust a bridge spans so small a river and Notice the pile of battered tree trunks. Stripped from the banks, tree trunks have washed downstream, borne by raging storm water. Such an avalanche of rising water and logs might crush a weaker bridge. This fuels metaphors in my mind about nature and man’s ingenuity.
The Amicalola cascades from the top of Amicalola Falls some miles away to the north and passes under the bridge in its journey to join the Etowah. For a few moments, a bright sun electrifies a Tulip Poplar’s yellowing leaves. The tree’s reflection bounces faintly on the stream’s surface. A disappearing pathway on the left suggests there is more drama waiting to be seen downstream.
The scene was empty of the usual flyfishers, hikers, and kyakers, as well as Sunday sunbathers and splashers, who pass under the bridge. I would enjoy learning what this image inspires in you as a reader. Surely, others have photographed this scene. There must be an artist out there who has painted this amazing display of light and reflection. I have tried without success. Thankfully, my camera is smarter than I am.