The Forgotten Bridge

Somewhere in Glencoe there rests a long-forgotten bridge. Its road is gone, overgrown with heather, a waterfall runs beneath it and mountains surround it. I saw it from afar and walked over the marsh and through the rain to find it again. I did, some time later, when my skirts were heavy with rain, my boots soaked through, my hair dripping, happy as I’ve ever been.