'o'clock over the breakwater light houses. Just finished watching the
Edgar B. Speer enter the port--to pick up coal. Coal, coal, coal. "low
sulfur western coal," but nonetheless. Got my fix of standing under
the aerial lift bridge and having the descending deck stop inches from
my upturned face. New is the understanding of the gussets of the sort
that failed on the I-35 bridge. At first the ice was flowing toward
the lake in the channel; the approach of the thousand foot laker
reversed the flow. A crewman on the bridge exchanged "I love yous"
with a woman on the side. My fingers are now too cold to continue.
While we were having breakfast, some young women labeled waste
containers as "Commingled Recycling" and "Food Waste." now, late
morning as I sit in the breakfast room, reading, drinking tea, looking
at the lake, the women cleaning--sweeping, mopping--asking: "Is this
garbage?"
I just got the call--the tribe is back, and it is time to move on.
--
David
www.schons.net
