On my morning commute, yesterday, things went bad. It started at what is called, locally, the Fifth Avenue curve. A gentle sweeping arc that sends you from a warming southern drive seeming soft and kind casual and kind to a more western orientation looking at the tall buildings of business gone mad. Things get serious. You can almost hear the crackle and pop of an interspace communication. “Red Leader, assume attack formation.” Everything seems to start on the curve.
Yesterday, after passing 5th Avenue things slowed down. Slowed to a crawl. A crawl broken by stretches of a complete stop. Eventually, I made it past Leonard Avenue, the first exit west of 5th Avenue. A police car came screaming up the east bound freeway, crossed on the overpass and went accelerating down the westbound lanes. I could hear the roar of the engine over my music, Summer in the City by the Lovin’ Spoonful. Which is one of my favorites, so it was kind of loud. I knew it was bad, then.
And it was. There was a horrible accident, multiple cars, multiple injuries. I didn’t know how bad it was, but it was obviously so bad my first thought was a silent prayer. Not the usual disgust for people who have to drive carelessly and wreck, ruining my commute. In fact it was so bad they closed the freeway, and I was forced to exit and wind my way through the downtown streets crowded with frustrated, detoured commuters.
The sun came up. It was weak, hidden with dark clouds. There was no rain in the forecast and none in the clouds. But, they were dark, ominous, heavy with something. Anger, sadness? Maybe they wanted to shed a few tears for the poor souls. Nothing more painful than impotent sorrow. It was a very uncomfortable morning. And, I have never been so glad when morning ended and the skies finally gave a little break. I know, occasionally, I see things for more than they are, and I am sure this was one of those times. It doesn’t take much imagination to make the connection, though.