SEVENTEEN: THE DUSKTIME INTERSECTIONS THEN

The intersections then. Something in the electrical lights. Hopefully we will make it home, - to where there is safety. So many idiots about. But there is a beauty, benevolence, somehow, to it. It’s okay sometimes, and even good and well, - that the cement is by the lights and the cars jockey and play for position and the moon rises and the sun sets and all the rest. Long ashen days give way to textured and interesting night scenes. The fire hall sleeps a bit, - alert but rested. The ice rink and its zamboni- quiet- still- placid. It’s not known, but a river must collide with the water edges- that is what a river is, and the tree sways over and above. So long is its branch that it dips itself into the wet at times. Hedgehog, - owl, - critter. Normal, - esoteric, - nuisance. It’s all down somewhere from the intersections in near night and night.