Gone, water under the bridge they say as if the event, the person, the feeling is disposed of. But it’s not gone just gone somewhere else. Not disappeared, not effaced, that water just flows away to a river, to the sea, to a new form. It will turn into a cloud and fall, fall somewhere on earth, in a swamp, onto that same sea. The water under the bridge is never gone. It’s always flowing towards the bridge, it’s really “ under the bridge” for a second or so and then it’s flowing away, leaving the bridge behind. It’s in the glass I drink from, in the shower with me, in the water that greens up a lawn, that irrigates my food, that falls over a cliff in a jungle. Wherever I go the “ water under the bridge” is with me.