For visually challenged writers, the image shows a two-arched stone bridge stretching over a river. Traffic queues at one side waiting to cross.
As a child, my imagination ran wild
I used to dream up impossible scenarios
Creating difficulties where none existed
Upheavals and challenges conjured from thin air
All this distress was too much to handle for me at times
So I would go to my father to seek his wise counsel
Gently and with wisdom, he would tackle my problems
One by one diminishing the mountains into molehills
One of the adages he used has stuck to me even now,
You can only cross the bridge when you’ll come to it!