About a quarter of the way out, the genius of the bridge began to manifest itself. As the first massive pylon reared out of the fog and the spidery cables flew out to it, the contrast between the delicate lines and the massive over built structures are perfectly balanced. As the center of the bridge gets closer, the symmetry of it imposes a perfect order on the sky. The gray cloudy featureless sky is sectioned into trapezoids, diamonds, arcs, bars and stars. I take many photos while I am up here. By the time I reach Brooklyn, the sun has burned off the fog. It is hot and blazing. The east river glistens and the bridge sways in the wind, as I find a subway hole, and descend, back into the belly of the beast, again. Next