A jake-brake gurgles 100’ above me, stationed as I am here far below the overpass. The constant hum of traffic never stops here. Like the Mississippi below, it flows with a steady haste, always renewing. Ironic that as traffic flow has increased, the waters of the mighty river have lowered.
The air in the moment is perfect. A light breeze tenses at the hair on my legs, better air conditioning does not exist in all the world than right here in this instance. A neighboring tractor trailer starts his generator. Chug chug chug chug. I would argue it distorts the peace, but here in this concrete jungle, it is little more than the addition of another cicada or chirping frog.
Above the levy wall, on a cable, a bird of some indeterminant breed crows and caws. It is so powerful and impassioned but there is no reciprocity for her. Is it a call of longing? Or is she declaring this land is hers, get out foreign invader?
How sweet and sad that she doesn’t know the battles and the war was fought and lost long ago. Even sweeter and sadder still, is that I do not realize that she is on the winning side.
