Let's get lost

Morning light is the day's way of waking up, a quiet fury of heat. My Sundays on the 34 along Sample Road often included a section where our rising star directed its rays through the window at just the right angle to bake my stomach and lap, and turn the streets into gold in the shadow of Mt. Trashmore. The momentary disruption reminds us that light is a tangible yet untouchable visitor, visiting only when our directions align.

A previous post provided an example of the direction-challenged youth of west Broward. It's probably a generalization and grossly off the mark, though they sure do make it easy to reach conclusions. So when one particular regular rider boarded, a young man always with book in hand, and that book happened to be titled Let's Get Lost, maybe it's time to ask myself if I'm reading too much into the signs.

Every Sunday after servicing the Tri-Rail train station, we'd turn back onto Sample Road for a westbound trip into Coral Springs. There he'd be, not standing by the bus stop sign or plopped on the bench, but down on the sidewalk, cross-legged, face focused on the book of the moment. He'd board and be polite to a fault, which makes an impression after countless blasé interactions. We'd make small talk about the book and life before he bounded off at his exit - with a Good Day and a waving smile.

Light goes in all directions, not necessarily our own. And it doesn't get lost, it shows the way.