Yesterday, as I was entering the convenience store the guy behind me was singing pretty girl. He seemed to know the guy behind the glass. They did a fist bump as I got change for the vacuum cleaner outside. The car was a mess, having collected the refuse of these troubled days, and I needed to get it ready for a returning passenger.
This morning, the car again empty of recently departed riders, I passed a cameraman and reporter standing in the the glare of the morning sun, waiting for the cue, their time spent in pause so much longer than a five minute story.
I long to keep my finger on play but inevitably it is removed and I wonder when the video of life will start up again. I listen for the sound of reconnection.
Yet often I am left with the silence of waiting, interspersed with a crackling hum as the dirt I’ve collected from this earth disappears into the depthless grace of an everpatient God.