Beate Sigriddaughter
Suspension Bridge
In the center of the trembling narrow bridge, she listens to the water rush below, white swirls,
and to her left a thin waterfall feeds down from the top of the gorge. The air is crisp. A stunning
moment. Except for the trash that has been pressed to the side of the creek by the dancing water
below. Tin cans, some rags, a torn sheet of bright blue plastic. Is it her responsibility to witness
and describe when that happens to her world? Or can she just turn her back and walk off into the
forest and create her own dance of celebration, perhaps with fairies, perhaps with foxes? The sun
breaks through the clouds.
Other work by Beate Sigriddaughter