I wake early just before dawn, and the first thing I do is to open the curtains. To be with the river again. It is deserted outside and still dark. The bridges with their arches and supports in solid lines against the sky, illuminated, guarding the night. It is cold so I open the curtains wide and climb back under the covers. I want to sit and watch the sun rise and describe the scene outside, to try and get closer to the bridges in words, in pencil lines. I am trying to tether myself to the concrete reality of these bridges, hoping to map their crossings.