And the sirens wail

I’m sitting in my office working, somewhat disgruntled because I am inside hammering away at hearing prep while so many are out in the world. How  unfair!  Why must I have the type of job that requires me to give this extra effort?  How much rather would I be sitting on my porch finishing “The Devil’s Cave”, the most recent delightful book about Bruno, police chief in St. Denis, France.

And then the sirens start to sound on the street outside my window. I don’t know to what event the first responders have been called:  A fire, an accident, a burglary in progress.  I pause in my work to contemplate the distressed person at the other end of the emergency vehicle’s path.  Will the man, woman or child who has summoned help get to enjoy this cool spring day? Or any other? Will they stand outside of their charred house, or next to their crushed vehicle, or beside their loved one’s still form, oblivious to the sun’s sweet kiss?

I turn back to my work, grateful for this perspective. I say a little prayer for the soul in need of the siren’s urgent cry.

2 thoughts on “And the sirens wail

  1. Linda Overton

    Thanks for reminding me that I could be worse off than I am and that I should be thankful for the health that I am enjoying now.


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