I am a sucker for all things forgotten. Off the beaten track, out of the way, things that meant something or lead somewhere once. This bridge crosses a creek in the woods. The road that once connected this bridge to place, is now overgrown with trees. The May Apples are standing like tiny umbrellas among the jungle of fiddleheads and lush flush of skunk cabbage.
The moss and lichen have claimed the structure for their own, adding new color and textures that no civil engineer could have planned. There are cement barriers on either side of the bridge. As with everything here, I am sure they had meaning at one time. Perhaps reminding forgetful travelers that this was no longer the way home.