Another foggy morning, socked in with damp and dew and glistening spider webs.
The lights were on at Joe’s Bicycle Shop, one of the long-standing tenants of the Lake Ella cottages. Nothing moved inside that I saw as we strolled by, so I expect someone simply left the lights on when they closed up yesterday.
It was startling, though, to see evidence of life and livelihood there, at this time of morning. It always is, because for the thousands of days we’ve walked by, the cottages are generally dark. They are still and quiet and empty as so few places are in this day and age.
I wish I had some profound commentary about surprise and expectations and the work-day world’s schedule, but we all know these things. The interruption feels like a betrayal, though — this is not how things are supposed to be. One thing slides out of alignment and I am looking around for the rest of the story. A car I don’t recognize? Garbage cans out of place?
(Instinct is inescapable, and brains are weird.)
Keely wasn’t bothered, though, so in the end, neither was I.