February 08 2008, 09:50 PM As For The Hat Collection

In the library (well, one of the libraries), some distance from the bizarre chair shaped by an antiquated notion of the future, a special piece of furniture sits. The chair is made for naps; the other made for maps. It is a massive, open case, built for holding massive, broad volumes of topologies, shadings, and obscure squiggles made plain in the corners. The stacks are somewhat unordered, but this is only the happy evidence that the things are used, pulled from the slats and cracked open on the tables, then stuffed back in again after fingers have been drawn across the pages. There is time in those piles, too: pull the maps of a place today and pull the maps of the same in years past to make mark of the changes. The chair sits empty, cradling only a spray bottle of antiseptic solution - I've not used it.

This evening's jaunt took me up the other hill and over to the natural rampart that offers a good view of the river valley, spread out below. There has been something of a change down there, too, in recent hours. The Brady Street Bridge has apparently slipped, dropping a deck eight inches sometime in the night. This is only eight inches, sure, but the massive thing touches both banks, and sometimes a small shift can belie bigger things. For now, the span at night is eerily quiet of lights, save only for the multicolored strobes at either end, and the punishing bright light of the work site, blooming into the night. It is true we have many bridges, but it is true, too, that losing one can cause cramp.

It is Friday, a night for small pleasures. For myself, I've coffee in my cup from the Moka Pot, made calm with generous hot milk, made gentle with sugar. The porch calls.