There’s something about going over bridges that stirs profound thoughts that don’t have time to form clearly, or rise completely to the surface before the bridge-crossing is over, and that, I think, is why the experience is so potent.
But sometimes, you cross a bridge to go somewhere, and the somewhere leaves such an impression that you can never cross that bridge without that thought crossing your mind. (Interesting that thoughts should cross your mind.)
And in time, you accumulate many such thoughts, until a view like this from Battersea Bridge acquires, as postmodernists like to say (without meaning this at all), an excess of meaning. So that’s what a liminal space is.
Or in other words, thanks for the coffee, I., it was great to see you again.
