Though you can’t tell from the ice flows in this picture, strong whirlpools form under this bridge. During the few hot days of summer, kids will climb atop the bridge and plunge into the deep flow. During the torrent flood of melting snow caps in spring, surfers in wetsuits will tie themselves to the bridge, fight their way onto surfboards, and challenge the relentless current (which means they perpetually end up drinking freshly melted glacier).

This old train bridge crossing the Bow River, is just a short walk down the trail from our home. Originally built by coal miners, the strong iron structure now hosts pedestrians; a quiet trail system where noisy infrastructure used to be.

Once, as I was crossing the river with a friend, a coyote was crossing from the other side (the bridge also acts as a wildlife corridor). I spoke softly as the coyote passed us by. I could have reached out and touched her; she never broke stride.

Two days ago, we watched four coyotes make their way along the creek outside our home. We have a soft coyote skin draping the back of a couch in our living room. I purchased the skin for Luke two Christmases ago when one coyote in particular was making the local news, approaching and intimidating children.

A visitor once stood with Luke by the water where the coyote drink and commented, “Luke, you must really love your backyard.” Luke flung his arms toward the sky, “The whole world is my backyard!” Coyote, deer, ducks, ravens, blue jays, cardinals, chickadees, finches, rabbits, mice, cats, dogs, joggers, bikers, and tourists all agree.

Looking out the window here, I see the little bridge crossing our creek, the bridge our kids play on and under, the bridge I write about in Clairvaux Manifesto,

On Thursday during that week of fasting, we received the answer to our housing. Dar stood on a foot bridge near the bed and breakfast. Overlooking Spring Creek, she pointed to a certain house nestled in the woods, surrounded on three sides by water, and prayed; “God, give us that house.” At the same moment, unknown to Dar, I was making a phone call (answering a generic advertisement in the local newspaper) regarding a four bedroom house with a full nanny suite. The next day I met the new owner of the house to have a look through it. I stood in the dining room mystified.

Looking out one of the fifteen windows at a foot bridge crossing the creek, I said to the owner, “You’ll never believe this, but a couple of years ago my wife and I stayed overnight in this very house with our friends who lived here at that time. Back then, I stood in this very spot—in front of this window—looking over Spring Creek, and said, ‘I could live in a house like this.’”

Bridges teach me people will build anything to get themselves anywhere.

Advent teaches me the Creator is here now.