A cool, quiet evening just after sunset. The acrid and welcoming smell of low tide. Occasional barking cries of sea gulls somewhere around. The overcast grey of a rain already gone by. The impossible windmill blades, resting like starships in dry dock, reflecting the many harsh suns of floodlights.

Amongst the fishing and shipping warehouses in this industrial part of New Bedford, I found this momentary respite from people and politics and news and worry. There is only this scene, and the quiet space it makes in my mind.

Across a street and behind a chain link fence, two white industrial windmill blades lay held flat in construction pipes. In front are some construction vehicles, behind are two radio towers and a white warehouse building, all under an overcast twilight sky.