Dangling.

To basically none of us does this seem like a satisfactory situation, and yet there's little to nothing anyone can do about it. I cross under this hanging post twice a day--hurriedly. The light is low enough to touch. The people served by this set of wires have been told that Sunday is the earliest they'll have power.


"What are you doing?" the jumping boy called from the trampoline this evening as I was walking home. "I'm going home!" I replied. "I thought you lived on the corner?" he said. Not any more, I told him, not adding that one of the pleasures of having moved down the road is getting to be greeted by him and his siblings when they're out in their yard. It can take a blissfully long time to get home from school these gorgeous days.