Walking across bridges
creaking wooden planks,
suspension cabled steel,
or pedestaled concrete.

The sounds of waves crashing,
or the trickle of a mountain stream,
the roaring of a raging river,
or whistling wind down a hollow.

Jaw dropping heights
over muddy creek valleys,
or drainage ditches in the city,
simply paths to new places.

Decisions made,
changing locales,
the match is lit,
but never burn the bridge.