blue, red

Every weekday morning and evening my little commute takes me by the Tree of Life. But not today. The white wooden barricades with blue letters that arrive every spring for the marathon were blocking Wilkins Avenue. When I turned and turned again to detour, a police car silently strobed blue, red, blue, red, blue, red.

Wear blue, my daughter explained, in solidarity. Are you giving blood? she asked. The children talked about the active shooter drills at their schools going awry. My wife and I described tornado drills in Illinois, fallout shelters in Ohio. As though matter of fact.

Today the sky is gray and it is cold and people are quiet.

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