We decided to take a day in the now, embracing curiosity and setting out to explore the Pochuck Boardwalk Suspension Bridge. With no real agenda, we simply wanted to experience the moment, step away from the rush of life, and let nature guide us. That sense of being open to whatever the day had to offer led us to a deeply reflective journey across the bridge, where every step seemed to mirror life’s own transitions—sometimes steady, sometimes uncertain, but always moving forward.
As we began the crossing, it wasn’t just the sway of the bridge beneath our feet that caught our attention. Above us, Barnaby, a barn swallow, swooped and danced through the sky, dipping with playful ease through the wind currents. His sleek form shimmered in the sunlight, and I couldn’t help but feel as though he had a message for us. There was a confidence in the way he navigated the air, adjusting to the breeze without hesitation. We talked about how Barnaby’s flight seemed like a perfect reflection of resilience—the way we face resistance in life, how the winds sometimes try to push us off course, but with trust in our own wings, we can navigate through it.
Barnaby’s flight felt like more than just a bird in motion; it felt like an invitation to embrace the challenges we encounter with grace. We watched him for a while, marveling at his daring twists and turns, each one teaching us to keep going, to trust that the obstacles we face are merely part of the larger dance. His movement reminded us of how often we let fear or doubt hold us back. Yet Barnaby, undeterred, flew with the kind of faith we all seek—that quiet knowing that no matter the wind, we’ve got this. He seemed to say, “Adjust, don’t resist,” as we watched him disappear over the wetlands.
As we continued across the bridge, the beauty of the surroundings deepened. The wetlands stretched out on either side, alive with life, the sounds of the marsh providing a gentle soundtrack to our thoughts. Then, down near the base of a plank, another friend appeared—Leo, an Eastern fence lizard, basking contentedly in the warmth of the midday sun. Unlike Barnaby’s energetic flight, Leo’s stillness spoke volumes. His eyes half-closed, he seemed utterly at peace, completely unconcerned by the sway of the bridge or the movement around him. Leo’s calmness felt contagious, as if he was teaching us a different kind of lesson—one about the power of being present and trusting the moment.
Leo didn’t move much; he didn’t need to. There was no rush in his energy, only a deep, unspoken faith that the sun would continue to warm him, that the day would unfold as it was meant to. We couldn’t help but pause, marveling at how his stillness contrasted so perfectly with Barnaby’s movement. Yet in that contrast was a profound truth—whether we are soaring through life’s storms or resting in its light, we are exactly where we are meant to be. Leo reminded us that there is strength in stillness, that sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is simply be. We found ourselves talking about how often we rush through life, always chasing the next thing, when maybe what we really need is to pause, like Leo, and trust in the present moment.
The bridge beneath us swayed gently, a reminder of the constant movement of life, but standing there with Leo, we realized that not all movement needs to be frantic. Sometimes, the best way to move forward is to simply stand still and let life come to you.
By the time we reached the other side of the bridge, we felt different—lighter, more grounded. We’d entered the day with curiosity, and in return, the day had gifted us clarity. Barnaby and Leo, in their own unique ways, had shown us two essential truths. From Barnaby, we learned the power of embracing life’s winds, trusting our inner strength to navigate the challenges ahead. From Leo, we discovered the importance of stillness, of finding peace in the moment and knowing that not all progress is visible or immediate.
We talked about how these two creatures had embodied the very essence of life’s journey—sometimes it’s about flying forward with faith, and other times, it’s about resting in the now, knowing that everything will unfold as it should. The realization hit us: whether we are in motion or at rest, the key is trust. Trust in ourselves, trust in the moment, and trust in the path ahead.
As we left the bridge behind, we couldn’t help but feel that this day—this moment of curiosity—had given us a deeper understanding of life itself. The Pochuck Boardwalk Suspension Bridge had become more than just a scenic spot; it had become a metaphor for the journey we’re all on, swaying between movement and stillness, trust and resistance, yet always moving forward with faith, hope, and the quiet knowing that, no matter what, we’ve got this.
