It seemed impossible, that I should sing or dance or act. And it still does. But I have seen bridge, many a times, in the spring, which gives me hope. Just now, in the last few weeks, as the snow melted and I saw a wet ground, I saw its jutting with rails.
Rails?
No. Floorboards. Then a banister. By early April I could see more of the thawed out passage way. Music sprouted from its platform. A melodious offering vibrating my feet, when I dared step on it. I want to get on this bridge. Because when I do, I can understand the music. I can sing its lyrics and twist my body to its direction.

It’s more than a bridge, I realize. But I’m not yet over the bridge to realize what it has mean to me.