Not far from a bridge over Clear Creek in Prospect Park. On level
ground at the edge of a rocky river bank.
The Clear Creek bicycle trail is popular with walkers, joggers
and cyclists. Occasionally you may even see a unicyclist (me).
You're looking for an orange wide-mouth pill bottle with a white
lid.
As you're searching for this cache, you might hear the
ker-thunk, ker-thunk of a bicycle crossing the wooden bridge deck.
The bridge reminded me of a favorite poem,
The
Bridge Builder by
Will
Allen Dromgoole:
THE BRIDGE BUILDER
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim, near,
"You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again will pass this way;
You've crossed the chasm, deep and wide--
Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?"
The builder lifted his old gray head:
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him."
The Bridge Builder
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