I feel a little guilty, I have to admit it. On Sunday I was driving south on 49 between Shreveport and Lafayette, Louisiana and I saw a small turtle walking across the shoulder toward the busy highway. I felt a pang of dread, but I was driving 70 miles per hour and was surrounded by other cars and trucks driving 70 miles per hour. I just kept going. I sincerely hope that turtle got smart or got lucky. Poor little stupid turtle.
I saw a herd of light brown cows huddled together in a pasture at dusk. I wonder if they were scared of the night, or at least a little nervous. I would be, if I were a cow. An open field at night is scarier, I think, than woods. An open field is such a vulnerable place to pass the night hours.
Someone died on Interstate 20 this afternoon, just West of the Texas/Louisiana border. I sat for two and a half hours in a line of cars, waiting for the tanker truck to be moved, and for the remains of the car to be hauled away. Eventually we all got out of our cars and started talking to each other. An old man five cars ahead had a pair of binoculars, and people took turns trying to see what was going on up ahead. Every few minutes we'd all move out of the way so an emergency vehicle or tow truck could get in or out. No one stressed out too badly about the delay. It was an interesting sociological situation.
One woman, about a minute after we stopped, when we were all still in our cars hoping this wouldn't take long, threw some trash out of her window onto the grass median. It's the kind of thing some people do when they feel anonymous. We all saw her do it, however. An hour later, the trash was still right beside her, not seventy miles behind her like it would usually have been. She was standing beside her car, talking to another woman. Eventually, the absurdity of the litter got to her. She picked it up and put it back in her car. I was glad to see it. I hope the impression will stay with her, but people are people.
That's all. Not much.
Hello, friends. How are you?
Later. Love.
