it's not the bridge

When I took this picture in Columbus, Indiana,

I thought it was about the bridge,

the stoic past still present in this post-modern town.

But this picture is not about the bridge,

the circular pond,

the amphitheater over my shoulder as I focused the lens.

This picture is not about my trip to Columbus,

the boutique hotel I stowed away in,

the organic chicken I ate in Bistro 310.

Nor is it about the place I fled,

where the ghost of Christmas past

seems to whistle and smirk in dusty corners.

This picture is not about the reliable bridge,

the men who built it, the people or their dogs

who pass through it everyday.

This picture is not about the dormant trees,

nor is it about the need to rest,

to take a season off in this harried world.

This picture is about the red oak.

The one in the foreground that I did not even see until today.

This picture is about leaves that refuse to fall,

the ones who cling with their last ounce of will,

the leaves that spit on their hands and grab the rope,

determined to ride out the winter.

This picture is about the mighty,

the ones we do not see until we see,

the people out there, battling in their dry red skins.

This picture is about that. The holding on,

the absolute no within us all

that shouts its absolute yes.

That's what this picture is about.