A bridge too far

I don't know why but when life is too hard to figure out, I've always headed for the shore, whether it's the camp in Vermont, or Plum Island, or Hampton Beach or -- as befits my land-locked locale -- the Mississippi River. (Click on the image to see full sizes)

Reports from back East have not been good. Carolie's dad is not doing well and there's a fair amount of sighing going on at my house. And I walk to the river.

The Wakota Wabasha Bridge is the best bridge in a city of bridges, especially if you're walking.



It doesn't look like much, perhaps, but the designers of this bridge knew what they were doing. The stairs that take you from the bridge deck down to Raspberry Island, leave you out over the river.



Never been scared of heights? Try these stairs.







Raspberry Island is a lovely little spot below the city, along the river, which is low right now and is only this high because of high rainfall out in the western part of the state. The water made its way to the Minnesota River and eventually to here.



I can sit in the sun and ponder chucking it all and living on a boat on the river:



Or whether the guy in this little house atop the railroad bridge has the best job in the world ...



... or the worst.



I can consider the merits of swimming in this river, which I still consider America's sewer...



Or I can just sit and try to prove the existence of a loving God with his plan to make a good man -- and a good man's daughter -- suffer.

I always find myself heading for water to make a question like that make sense. Two-thirds of the planet is covered with water.

I don't think that's going to be enough.