Stafford Bridge turned 100 years old this year. It was a quiet passage celebrated with an abundance of graffiti embellishments and a low flowing river beneath. But as David and I walked across her solid path, I was struck by the echo of present and past.
Later we drove off and eventually came to one of the many roadside crosses that dot the area. Most are from auto accidents but this one, I think, was related to the irrigation canal. In summer and fall, in the height of the heat, these canals are an irresistible lure for cooling off. Sadly, the consequences occasionally ended with the appearance of a cross marking a passage from life into death.