No tourists trod the Middle Bridge at 8:15 this morning. Unless the other person gazing down at the river, on the north end, had walked over from the Inn or other hostelry. The half dozen or more tour buses parked in town later in the day had not yet arrived. Around mid-day, I lost count at 15 the number pointing lenses at the bridge.
In the morning, the mist rose slowly, and I took this picture. The river had fallen further in the night, though the patches of foam, effervescence flowing from the broken water just upstream, seemed to flow faster than on other days. I've noticed the the river creates each frothy shape unique. As I watched them slide by today, I wondered what happened when they collided. They merge, I saw.
When two bits of effervescence touch, they become one, and flow on enhanced.
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