There’s something a bit disconcerting about the unfinished, the partially undone, and incomplete. It is a reminder of imperfect time. There is a promise unfulfilled by a task grander than our abilities.Yet, we are called to the effort. We see the prior damage, the chips, the dents. Whole sections of the path to some future destination have been ripped from their previous location. This absent bridge to accomplishment demands rebuilding. Who will take up the hammer? Who will bear the brick and the wood and the steel?
Maybe no one. The bike route is still there and pedestrians cross after picking up there coffee. Everyday, people pass in their cars. They drive back and forth and through. But can they conceive shifting their axis, traversing their common ways? Do they imagine the places they would go if looking up into that gap, yearning with potential, they could see there more than just empty sky?