When the nearby Reedy River overflows after a hard rain, this old low-lying trail gets flooded; the solution was a slightly elevated wooden walkway.
Most times I barely notice the footbridge; it's just a convenience, keeping boots above the mud after a rain. But on this morning, the sun was in perfect position, still low in the sky, but above the thick trees on the little hill beyond the river, off to the right.
What I saw stopped me in my tracks.
There is something almost magical about early morning sun breaking through the trees. It excites me in a natural, primal, almost childlike way, calling back the memory of times when a five-year-old sharecropper's son ignored Mama's instructions on a warm spring morning, and headed off into the woods that surrounded the farm.
On this morning, over sixty years later, my senses are heightened. Hearing boots transition from the crunch of trail dirt to the muted clop on wooden slats pleases the ears. Lines of shadow and sunlight across those wooden slats pleases the eyes. The earthy aroma of forest and nearby river pleases the nose. Cool fresh air, warmed by the morning sun, pleases the skin and the lungs.
And my mind is pleased to take it all in, as I stand there, in reverence to this special moment ... in my American morning.