The Bridge

The old man stood, leaning on his pole in the bow of his small craft, gazing intently across the wide river at the massive structure. Dozens of men were crawling all over it like so many ants on a stick.

He remembered a time when men weren’t so proud - a time when they accepted there were things they didn’t understand, things they could not do. Now it seemed as though there was nothing they wouldn’t attempt. They seemed to believe there was nothing they couldn’t s...