Thursday Claire and I drove past a car lying on its side. I've seen cars upside down before, cars shimmering through a bank of flames, but this one balanced perfectly, almost peacefully, on its left flank.
I can't tell you the make, model, or color. But I can tell you that the driver's window was open (or broken) and scattered across the concrete just below was a half eaten apple, a bottle of water, some crumpled papers and other detritus.
That was what struck me. The stuff. The driver was no where to be seen.
Claire oohed a little and then shrunk back into her car seat, feverish. Out of school.
There's something so sweet about the flushed cheeks and warm neck of an ill five-year-old girl. I'll remember that, when she's older, how she reached for me when she was sick.
Larger tragedies. Natural disasters that kill people pushing bikes along quiet roads and fishermen hauling in their catches and mothers taking care of feverish children. What can I say about it, really? It's awful.
Much worse than a tipped car or an elevated body temperature.
I'm very sorry for all those people in Japan. I'm sure we'll give money (or socks!) and it will feel inadequate, because how can you push back the sea and bring back the dead with fistfuls of dollars?