Trainspotting in Wyomissing: An empty flat car rolls by. It is a little bit like a missing tooth, a mountain gap, a dip in the city skyline, or an empty shelf in the market.
A bright green sign has been taped to the side. You see black type: Home Shop for Repair Do Not Load with no punctuation. Its effectiveness comes from line spacing and big, bold lettering, with a key assist from lime green to deliver a message, if not the goods.
The car is useless for its intended purpose, but who is not to say its uselessness serves no purpose? It is and is not a missing link, it is a link missing its point.
Next task is heronspotting at the creek, where two herons and one fisherman wade at three different places.
A truck in the parking lot becomes noticeable not only because it is the only vehicle, but also because it has Wyoming plates and a Philadelphia Phillies decal. I’m on the bridge – the fisherman stands downstream a sixteenth of a mile away: he has found a hole.
East of Jackson Hole and west of the Liberty Bell – that’s where we are, when you consider the shortest distance between us. I feel idle and useless. The rain urges me to repair to the home shop and consider my burden.