Village Romance
The bridge over the river, witness to many romantic moments throughout her long existence, was lonely. It was a small village, with only one way to cross the river. She had no companion.
The old hotel that overlooked the river had been long due for renovation. An extra room was added at the very top. A fine view from a fine window. Down to the river, down to the bridge.
Villagers from both sides of the river used their bridge often, visiting friends on the other bank and going about their daily business. The bridge had always paid attention to their hustle and bustle, at least until now.
The new hotel room was at first proud to accommodate his guests. He was plush and well-furnished and he took special pleasure in their compliments, but his interest in the visitors quickly waned.
The bridge looked up at the new room, forgot about the villagers that were crossing, and was more than impressed. The room looked down at the bridge, forgot about his clients, and noticed her interest. His was sparked.
Day after day they watched each other. Their mutual contemplation grew and their desire to be together with it. But how?
A bridge, a room. What could they do?
It was then that the bridge looked at the sign that the villagers had put up next to her. Renna Bridge. She knew the babbling river to be called Renna and she knew she was a bridge.
The sign on the hotel said ‘New Room just opened.’ She knew he was a room.
A bridge, and a room. She had an idea what to do, but could she do it?
On Saturday morning the villagers gathered, scratching their heads to ponder the inexplicable sight. Some on one side of the river Renna, others on the opposing bank, with no way now to cross it. Their bridge had gone.
The hotel owner was equally perturbed. His beautiful new room, only recently finished at great expense, had similarly vanished, leaving the paying guests to awaken and find their bed on the rooftop.
No bridge, no room. She had done it.
In the small church on the edge of town a newly married couple, very much in love, walked down the isle and out into the morning sunshine. She now no longer had to look up at him, and he no longer had to look down at her. They looked into each others’ eyes, and smiled.
No longer a bridge, no longer a room. But she a bride, and he a groom.
She had offered him a gift, a part of her. The gift of her ‘g’. He, delighted, had accepted.
The old hotel that overlooked the river had been long due for renovation. An extra room was added at the very top. A fine view from a fine window. Down to the river, down to the bridge.
Villagers from both sides of the river used their bridge often, visiting friends on the other bank and going about their daily business. The bridge had always paid attention to their hustle and bustle, at least until now.
The new hotel room was at first proud to accommodate his guests. He was plush and well-furnished and he took special pleasure in their compliments, but his interest in the visitors quickly waned.
The bridge looked up at the new room, forgot about the villagers that were crossing, and was more than impressed. The room looked down at the bridge, forgot about his clients, and noticed her interest. His was sparked.
Day after day they watched each other. Their mutual contemplation grew and their desire to be together with it. But how?
A bridge, a room. What could they do?
It was then that the bridge looked at the sign that the villagers had put up next to her. Renna Bridge. She knew the babbling river to be called Renna and she knew she was a bridge.
The sign on the hotel said ‘New Room just opened.’ She knew he was a room.
A bridge, and a room. She had an idea what to do, but could she do it?
On Saturday morning the villagers gathered, scratching their heads to ponder the inexplicable sight. Some on one side of the river Renna, others on the opposing bank, with no way now to cross it. Their bridge had gone.
The hotel owner was equally perturbed. His beautiful new room, only recently finished at great expense, had similarly vanished, leaving the paying guests to awaken and find their bed on the rooftop.
No bridge, no room. She had done it.
In the small church on the edge of town a newly married couple, very much in love, walked down the isle and out into the morning sunshine. She now no longer had to look up at him, and he no longer had to look down at her. They looked into each others’ eyes, and smiled.
No longer a bridge, no longer a room. But she a bride, and he a groom.
She had offered him a gift, a part of her. The gift of her ‘g’. He, delighted, had accepted.