Before dawn, Robert drives past Francesca’s house on his way to Roseman Bridge. He thinks of her and her unappreciative husband. Francesca, for the first time lying naked in her bed, hears his truck and thinks of him at the wheel, a cigarette in his hand.

Robert parks well away from the bridge, puts on knee-high rubber boots, and brings cameras, lenses, and a tripod to a spot on the edge of the stream. As the sun clears the horizon, he begins taking shots. He notices a piece of paper tacked to the bridge entrance, hurries up to it, removes it, stuffs it into a pocket, and hurries back to continue taking photos as the sun edges upward.

Capturing several photo series with varying compositions and tonalities, he meticulously adjusts and re-adjusts his camera’s lens and film and explores different vantage points. He takes advantage of the remaining early-morning light and its sparkling effects upon the water.

Hoping to capture similar shots at another covered bridge, Robert drives quickly back up the road, again past Francesca’s house, where his eyes search briefly. He tries to remind himself that getting involved with someone like her would be too complicated.