Cindy White —Did you know the bridge in Germany burned down the month after we got back. —Bridge? Erfurt? —No, it was Switzerland. Lucerne. Chapel Bridge. Paintings in the ceiling, on panels in the rafters. Oldest wooden bridge in Europe. Fasnacht. —Ah, ok. —They built a replica. —And we saw the original. —Yes. And Baden-Wurttemberg. The Rhine, the castles. Cologne. Pulling into the marketplace. The open space. Wooden tables with Ofen Brot, potatoes, cabbage. The sprawling Cathedral in the background. Kolner Dom. Neighborhood cathedral. Gothic spires. Hosanna. Stone lace, gargoyles. A vendor gave her flowers. Held them in the bus for an hour. —Remember the boys in the café in London who wanted our addresses. I had a pen pal for awhile. —You’re kidding. Did I know that? —Hmm. I should have been a better pen pal. in London. —Dreary grey there. —In an old stone house near a moor with —Heathcliff—no, Rochester. Darcy. 78
I could live