Stopping on the Oaky River Bridge for Kathryn Burns   A hill on either side, one steeper than the other— to the east lay Kempsey and the coast, inland it was Armidale and more of the country called New England.   Steel and concrete over a river where waterbirds existed in a kingdom arched by silence and the seasonal shift of shadows— where dead trees stuck out of the water like grey memorials.   Often I would stop and look over its side— knowing it unlikely I’d encounter traffic, pleased to be sharing my day with birds that weren’t aware…