The Summer of the Frogs
By Tressa Green
Copyright 2010 Tressa Green
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Cover photo by Tressa Green
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There’s this old covered bridge in a secluded and quiet park I liked to go to. When you walk across those old wood planks, they creak delightfully. You know any minute they are going to break and down you’ll go. Far below into the trickle of creek with jagged rocks for teeth.
Covered bridges aren’t like normal bridges. You can’t look over their sides into the maw below and contemplate getting gummed to death by frothing water. You can’t peer off to the side and enjoy the crosswind playing with your loose hair, making it tickle your face and get into your mouth. If the thing is long enough, it gets very dark standing in the middle and there’s a sense of history as you stand there. That history snakes about you and gives you the chills if you’re sensitive to it. It’s quite eery. Above your head, there may even be bats. Definitely spiders and bird’s nests in the arching, exposed rafters.