Write prose on the covered bridge

When I visited the covered bridge, it was around Christmas.

Starting from Milwaukee, we walked all the way on the snow, and the expressway extended forward like a black belt on a piece of silver white. The sky is clear and the snow is falling.

It takes about an hour to reach the covered bridge. I didn't expect it to be so humble. Just an ordinary wooden bridge with a sloping low roof, lying quietly on the side of the road, surrounded by a thick piece of snow. This used to be an avenue, but now it's just a ruin. The car whizzed past on the highway without looking at it. And it seems to be just silently willing to be forgotten. For more than a hundred years, wood has gradually faded, decayed and destroyed. Only a humble bronze medal at Qiaokou remembered its glorious history because of its youth and beauty.

I stood in front of it and wondered, is this a place famous for romantic love? There is no flash, and it seems that I don't want to cling to the glory of the past, but I choose to grow old silently.

This is very much like the heroine described in the novel who made it famous.

A woman with rich heart and quiet appearance. She is not short of delicate and romantic feelings. An accidental meeting will make her tempted by a casual man, and the emotional storm that follows is no less than the enthusiasm of any girl in love. It's just that her light is restrained and mellow, and only people who are equally delicate and calm can observe and appreciate it.

So we passed them unconsciously, lamenting that there is no beautiful and romantic feelings in the world, and ignoring the treasure after ordinary silence.

Standing by the covered bridge and looking around, there is a quiet river next to it, and the thick snowfield is an equally quiet grove. On the opposite side of the road is an endless vast plain. Everything seems to be still and lifeless. However, when we are struggling to cross the deep snow, we can see the clear stream still flowing in the dense forest. Even in such a severe winter, the current is still lively and light.

These landscapes are definitely not excellent, but they are filled with simple and natural atmosphere. Quiet covered bridge, quiet independence. Just like the residents who grew up here, they are enthusiastic and reserved, but first of all, they are real and natural.

When we reach the covered bridge, we can't help but pay attention to the snow here. Unlike in the south, they are too dry to even hug. Even if they huddle together tightly and open their hands, the wind blows them away like fine sand.

Time is like this, blowing all the thrilling and heartbreaking things away like dry snowflakes in your hand, leaving no trace. I think the covered bridge knows this. But she still stands here quietly and grows old with peace of mind. She really loves and hates. Although the inland sea is secret and only open to people who really know her, it certainly exists.

She is not afraid to forget.

I stepped on the snow carefully and approached the humble bridge, and every step made a clear sound.