At Midday a chill wind blows beneath just another bridge along a lonely stretch of river, haunted with the remains of its former inhabitants you can almost feel the demonic forces resting here. Amidst the stench of decay, old sleeping bags, trash, and used needles; here a woman lost, broken, battered, and abused sits on a log empty purse in hand staring blankly to the river thoughts of what was lost in her mind! Her eyes are puffy from tears shed and the drugs coursing through her veins. Robbed of all the material crap she holds dear her clothes ,her ids her ,her money, how long as she sat here staring, how many times has she been used up and left alone.
Life is cruel! The river is wide, its depths never satisfied, how easy to walk in and be forgotten, how easy to just let go of all the pain and tears. At that moment the silence is broken by the sound of many footsteps and crunching gravel moving ever closer to her space. The woman so broken does not even contemplate flight but remains still in her misery, perhaps they will pass her by, and why not who is she but just another wasted wretch, just another nameless homeless, just another toy that once was new and shiny yet now is old and worn just garbage to be tossed in the river and forgotten? The woman’s soul feels deeply in this place there is only darkness, only those who would steal without a thought and give no comfort.
At another nameless bridge, along the same stretch of river. There was sitting between some pylons, a woman and two men. They are dressed in tattered clothes, with large bottles of beer in hand. They converse in low weary voices. This tribal group of three move little, and listen much as they are always wary, and always on edge. They wait in the slim hope of those who they have heard of; those who come to this place on some lucky occasions, to bring food, blankets, and heaters. They are wary with good cause they know the river, they know its woods, they know the train tracks that wind along with it, they know its heroes, and mostly its villain’s. As they sit there they contemplate on times past, when the woods were filled with life, tents, friends and tribes. Those days may perhaps be gone, and never to be found again. As they waited there on this chilly day the sound of voices picked up on the wind some distance downriver. Immediately Tribal instinct set in, and the two men sent the woman to investigate, as she is the fastest. If it is trouble she can run back to the men if it is help she can lead it to them. The woman moves quickly but silently along the ridge. Trying not to be seen she creeps over the top of the ridge. There down the slope and just to the right of a bridge is the source of the voices. She waits just over the top out of sight hope and fear in her mind not knowing what to expect she waits to see.
At another nameless bridge, along the same stretch of river. There was sitting between some pylons, a woman and two men. They are dressed in tattered clothes, with large bottles of beer in hand. They converse in low weary voices. This tribal group of three move little, and listen much as they are always wary, and always on edge. They wait in the slim hope of those who they have heard of; those who come to this place on some lucky occasions, to bring food, blankets, and heaters. They are wary with good cause they know the river, they know its woods, they know the train tracks that wind along with it, they know its heroes, and mostly its villain’s. As they sit there they contemplate on times past, when the woods were filled with life, tents, friends and tribes. Those days may perhaps be gone, and never to be found again. As they waited there on this chilly day the sound of voices picked up on the wind some distance downriver. Immediately Tribal instinct set in, and the two men sent the woman to investigate, as she is the fastest. If it is trouble she can run back to the men if it is help she can lead it to them. The woman moves quickly but silently along the ridge. Trying not to be seen she creeps over the top of the ridge. There down the slope and just to the right of a bridge is the source of the voices. She waits just over the top out of sight hope and fear in her mind not knowing what to expect she waits to see.
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