I travel 84 miles each day. 84 miles. That is approximately 2 to 2 1/2 hours that I spend in my car. Each day. Five days a week. About 52 weeks in a year. People ask me why I do it, and I shake my head, not in a manner of wise contemplation, but instead, in that way that you see in movies when someone gets hit really hard, and they are shaking their head, attempting to set their brain straight. That's where my job is, so I do it.
But each morning, and each evening, as I make the trek to and from work, I have the pleasure of crossing one of man's great pieces of art, the Golden Gate Bridge. You wouldn't think that simply crossing a bridge would make such a vicious trip worth the while, but I must admit, it kind of does.
Each morning, as the sun rises, and magnifies the colors of the landscape, I see how the red steel's contrast actually compliments the electricity of the blue sky. It is a perfect example of how colors work together, if you've ever studied the color wheel. There is an instantaneous warmth the overwhelms me, and when the light is just right, a lump will actually form in my throat.
Oddly enough, I think to myself, "good morning ms. gate," because, I apologize, but there is no way this bridge could be a man. With the elegant curve of the wires, the arc of the light fixtures delicately adding a slight accent, she is a woman who has style, but in a very understated manner. I imagine that she would be a well-read individual who doesn't speak much, but when she chooses to express her opinion, it is one that is valued, and well thought out. She would have a narrow body, slim and with few curves, and when she dressed, she would only show the gentlemen what they needed to see, and the rest, well, if they were lucky. Chanel would grace the nape of her neck, but only on special occassions. Otherwise, she would leave a remnant of english rose in the air as she walked by.
She is a woman who I would like to be friends with, who would invite me over for lunch, and we would we discuss literature, and which exhibits were coming to the city. On Friday nights, she would accompany me and watch the indie flicks that my husband doesn't much care for. She would speak French and Spanish, but you would not know this about her unless you knew her very well. She would never boast, or brag about her wisdom, her beauty. Instead, people would just be able to enjoy it when they were in her presence, learn from her, and be grateful for her.
So, each morning, I greet Ms. Gate, reveling in her charm and grace, and each evening, I wish her sweet dreams, for you wish that for someone who you enamor so.
