Walking along the trail at the Billy Frank Jr. Nisqually National Nature Preserve in Washington, my mind was cluttered with work-related thoughts and distractions. As I focused on the weathered wooden planks beneath my feet, I hoped that the beauty of nature would pull me into the present moment.

Suddenly, a woman nearby waved and pointed towards the marsh. “Look!” she exclaimed. My curiosity was piqued—could it be a deer, an eagle, or something more exotic?

“Look at those beautiful ducks!” she smiled, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the suggestion. Yet, I paused to observe them. To my surprise, they were indeed stunning. I had never seen ducks with such striking black and white plumage before. Unlike the mallards, these Bufflehead ducks dove completely underwater, disappearing for moments before resurfacing. I was grateful for the woman’s invitation to look, as I might have continued walking with my head down, oblivious to the wonders around me.

As I continued along the bridge, I realized the importance of being present. The serene reflection of blue skies and fluffy white clouds danced on the pond’s surface, and I appreciated the break from days of rain. What else had I overlooked?

Next, my attention was caught by the vibrant moss growing on the wooden handrail. Just when I thought my encounter with the ducks was the peak of the experience, I found beauty in this humble plant. I recalled reading that moss was one of the first plants on Earth, evolved from sea algae, with over 10,000 different species. Gently, I brushed my fingertips over the soft, velvet-like texture of the moss.

Fully engaged with my surroundings now, I ventured further across the marsh bridge and encountered an artificial delta—an innovative transformation that had turned this area into a rich wildlife habitat. Along the path, informative signs described the local bird species, and I found myself hoping to spot a yellow-rumped warbler.

As I walked, I saw others with impressive cameras, and I felt slightly embarrassed using my phone to capture images. Suddenly, I spotted a peregrine falcon perched on a dead tree stump, blending into the scenery with its camouflage feathers. While I attempted to take a decent photo, an older woman approached and asked what I was photographing. I pointed out the falcon, but she soon exclaimed, “Look, an eagle!”

Sure enough, a majestic bald eagle was perched atop a tall tree, commanding the skyline. I lingered, hoping for a chance to capture a perfect shot, but the birds remained still as the sun began to dip. I realized the park would close at sunset, and I needed to hurry back after spending so much time marveling at the wildlife.

Rushing toward the second bridge, the main attraction, I noticed that it spanned out over the sound during low tide, with only puddles remaining beneath. A falcon swooped towards me, causing a momentary jolt of surprise, and I quickly snapped photos.

Just as I approached the bridge, an older woman with curly gray hair greeted me enthusiastically with, “Happy Imbolc!”

I blinked, unsure of the term. Sensing my confusion, she explained that Imbolc marked the halfway point between winter solstice and spring equinox. “Today, we are sliding into spring!” she added cheerfully.

Her words filled me with warmth. I felt as though I had encountered a kindred spirit in this magical place, and with newfound joy, I continued on my journey.

As I neared the second bridge, I noticed most people were already returning. I quickened my pace, not wanting to be the last one on the bridge when park rangers would inevitably have to remind me of the closing time. However, the vibrant colors of the landscape were too compelling to ignore, and I paused to capture the stunning contrast of the bronze mud against the blue sky and darkening clouds.

The sky was darkening, not just from the setting sun, and a wave of realization hit me—I hadn’t brought a raincoat. Deciding to turn back, I acknowledged that I had made considerable progress but was still two miles from my car, with storm clouds rolling in.

Suddenly, I spotted a great blue heron standing stoically by a fallen tree, steadfast against the storm. This bird seemed to embody a lesson in resilience, and I felt a surge of wisdom from nature.

As I turned back, the wind whipped against me, and the rain began to pour sideways. I felt exposed, and the enchanting landscape had shifted to a more daunting presence.

Reaching the delta, I was drenched on one side but pushed through, arriving at a fork in the path. I could retrace my steps or venture into the unknown trail. With the rain easing slightly, I chose adventure.

Navigating through the marsh forest beneath stormy skies felt surreal, akin to Dorothy entering a haunted forest. My imagination ran wild as I envisioned faces in the tree trunks and branches resembling hands, listening for unexpected sounds.

Just then, a branch fell nearby, sending me jumping in surprise, but a smile crept onto my face—I was enjoying myself immensely. My work stress faded away, and I felt like a child at play, conjuring up fantastical threats around me.

Through the dark trees, I spotted the welcoming light of the visitor center in the distance. Approaching the end of the bridge, I saw a bird perched on a branch—an American Robin, not the yellow-rumped warbler I hoped for.

Settling into my warm, dry car, I reflected on my journey. I had started as an adult burdened with responsibilities, but now I felt a rekindled connection to the imaginative child within me. On that bridge, I had found grounding, both above the seafloor and within my own creativity.

This article was inspired by the Globetrotter’s monthly challenge on bridges. For more wonderful submissions, check out the works of Erie Astin and Carol Labuzzetta, MS Natural Resources, MS Nursing.

Thank you to the amazing editors at Globetrotters—Jillian Amatt, Adrienne Beaumont, JoAnn Ryan, Anne Bonfert, and Michele Maize—for their continuous support and professionalism. Please consider following Globetrotters and exploring their excellent articles.