The Bridge to Nowhere in the Mangapurua Valley, Whanganui National Park.
In the remote upper reaches of Whanganui River... above the stony rapids,
from a rounded boulder and pebble strewn beach...there winds a track,
cloaked in ponga mystery; it twists and turns, over tree roots and a swing-bridge,
deeply into the bush it goes...towards two lost worlds that no one knows,
linked by an old...reinforced...concrete...arched
bridge.
The Bridge to Nowhere has stood stubbornly... alone for nearly a century,
built for its brief moment in history...but now no cars growl an approach,
no trucks or tractors, merely the soft patter of feet...and excited chatter of visitors,
who marvel at the natural splendour unfolding before them...
along the narrow track in this... remote...'nowhere' place.
If the bridge comes from nowhere...and leads to nowhere,
then surely there must be a place...in between the two,
that is indeed 'somewhere;' where nowhere is vanquished
by the very presence of the bridge...the people who visit... and numerous birds.
That narrow bridge of lost worlds...hopes and dreams,
still spans the deep ravine... with its bushy covered scene.
Deep, deep down... a slowly moving stream slips by, stirred by long black eels.
The solid concrete...all mixed by hand, thrusts its arch wide into each vertical side,
to hold the bridge firmly in place...in spite of untold earthquakes and raging torrents.
All the while... watched over by an ever vigilant robin, excited at the approach of strangers.
This 'somewhere' is a moment...and a place...both frozen in time and space.
A place...where the infinite is sublime, where the bridge, time and river seem held
in suspended animation...where man and nature...contrived to construct their finest creations,
and then hide them away...in a regenerating vacuum of nature's space...a place we now call... "Nowhere."
