For some unknown reason, the Mackinac Bridge always takes my breath away. Here it is on Saturday evening. The glow of the northern sunset lights the western sky over the Straits of Mackinac. A bank of April snow occupies the beach. Bridge lights twinkle a path over the water.
The towers of the bridge stand guard in the distance, guiding travel between Michigan's two peninsulas and two of the largest freshwater lakes in the world, Michigan and Huron.
The native peoples know it as a sacred place. They are right.
Wanda Hayes Eichler