Look At The Big Red Truck!

An ambulance went by my place the other day and, of course, I watched it pass. Not long ago, while I was walking over to the newspaper, a fire engine headed north and, just behind it, another. I stopped to watch them going up the street.

It’s not as if I’ve never seen an ambulance or a fire engine before; nor watching the action will somehow magically let me see the action once they arrive at their destination.

But we look. We also say, “There goes an ambulance,” or, “There go some fire trucks,” as if people around us are as dumb as dried cow pies.

There’s magic in them there sirens, them flashing lights, the low rumble of the trucks’ engines. Something that speaks to us and says, “How would you like to be behind the wheel of that? It’s big, it makes noise and it moves; just what guys like.”

This guy, anyway. I could manage it; I could roar down the main street of the village where I lived, sounding the horn, waving at my neighbors. I don’t know about the Dalmatian sitting next to me; I’m a cat person, myself.

Everybody has a story.
Naomi Fisher passed on a while ago. “Her creative imagination inspired her to synthesize a play-by-play account of a baseball game (Brooklyn Dodgers, of course) entirely with lines from Shakespeare.”