3

Out the studio window, on view of the train yard, over the occasional sound of cars clashing along the lengths of rail, about a thousand gulls sleep on the roof of the school bus repair facility. When the cars screech so do a few of the birds in protest. They arrange themselves evenly spaced along the expanse. They showed up a few days ago, triggered, I believe, by a change in the weather.

Earlier today I saw a man laid out on in the intersection with his bike mangled and onlookers awaiting ambulance response. I put the van in park, opened the door and resisted the urge to do anything. Some off duty official was already on the scene. The man was squirming in pain. Onlookers urged him not to move presumably for fear of spinal injury. It was dark. The man likely ran through the light while riding along the sidewalk and got struck. I keep thinking, I should have gone to reassure him, no one was doing that. I backtracked and drove away instead. That unknown person is the most significant man I've encountered all month.

A week ago I was working in the studio when lightening hit outside the studio window. A deafening boom filled the room. I was stunned with blindness like a punch to the jaw. When I came to I stared out the east window and thought of home. If I had the choice I would travel east, pass home, completely circle the globe and return again from the west.