In and of itself, the Aurora Bridge, which connects Queen Anne to Wallingford and Fremont, doesn't seem to be anything particularly special. Concrete, steel, paved, elevated. It wasn't until I crossed it on foot on Christmas Day 2005 that I found an appreciation for it.
Deceptively tall, spanning both land and water, the Aurora Bridge is unnerving and exhilarating both. There is an amazing view to be had from the middle of the span, with the Cascades far to the east, the Olympics far to the west, a long finger of the Puget Sound below, and sky stretched above. You'll be hard pressed to find a more expansive place to stand and appreciate the beauty of Seattle and its cradle.
For me, the waist-high wall separating pedestrians from short-lived aerial showmen served to remind just how thin the margins can be between life and the absence of it. Indeed, the so-called "Jumpers' Bridge" is deserving of its title. As I reached the Queen Anne end of the bridge, a single piece of faded and wind-torn 8 1/2" by 11" printer paper was taped to the railing. On it was the name of a 38 year old man, Victor A. Mitchell, his birth date, the date of November 5th, 2004, and the promise that he now slept in the arms of God. Leaning over the railing from that place and looking down to the concrete parking lot far below was strange.
The Aurora Bridge would be a perfect conduit for quiet contemplation, if not for the steady stream of cars flying noisily by. A clear and moonlit midnight hour would be an excellent time to cross. Or indeed, perhaps, Christmas Morning, when most automobiles are resting idly, the streets are quiet, and your own crystallized breaths dance in front of your face. read more