Sada Low-Water Bridge A summer afternoon on the Shimanto River, catching my breath after crossing

One August afternoon, I drove my red convertible toward Sada Low-Water Bridge. At the entrance, the low bridge ran straight across the river to the far bank. I knew it had no railings, but seeing it up close made its narrowness much more apparent than I’d expected. I pushed my sunglasses up onto my head and checked the way ahead.

With both hands on the wheel, I eased onto the bridge. I watched the road ahead and the edges of the bridge, steering the car straight across. I’d come to see the river, but while I was crossing, I had to focus on the road right in front of me. I’d save the view for later, I told myself, keeping my hands extra steady on the wheel.

As I went along, I noticed my hands had tightened around the wheel. I let out a breath and told myself, “Take it slow.” My shoulders dropped a little too. I kept my eyes forward, but I couldn’t help feeling happy as the far bank drew closer. I really was making it all the way across the river.

As soon as I reached the far side, I let out a long breath without meaning to. Oh, I didn’t realise I’d been holding my breath. I loosened my grip on the wheel, and even my fingers seemed to sigh with relief. The car had been moving slowly, but somehow I was the one who’d used up all my energy first.

I parked and finally took a proper look at the river. The low bridge cut across just above the water, with the rural hills stretching out beyond it. I’d been focused on the road while crossing, so only now did the river’s breadth really sink in. The thought that I’d crossed such a wide river on that narrow bridge filled me with a quiet happiness.

I took in the view a little longer before setting off again. I think what I’ll remember most about today isn’t the crossing itself, but the moment I reached the other side and finally breathed out. I can already picture myself acting out how tightly I gripped the wheel when I tell my friend about it. The river’s breadth and the tightness in my hands both became part of my summer.