The BridgeEarly one cold January morning I decided to take a walk on a path close to my house. It had snowed about 10 inches overnight and I was the first one on the path. Having no other footprints in the path ahead gave it a magical look as if no one had never traveled this way before. As I approached this bridge which crossed a small creek Robert Frosts poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening came to mind. I spent several minutes just standing there
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