A red sky at night, and, from the West, creep the strains of an old sea chanty played fast on electric instruments, wafted with hickory smoke from the restaurant on the far banks of Waller Creek.

At 8:38:00 PM, Diane Rehm says the word "unimportant."

An unexplained puddle of water on pavement in a covered garage, the ground around it dry in all directions. The shape remains open to interpretation.

An airplane flies east across a gray sky where a red cloud blooms out of the sunset. The airplane flies at such an altitude as to appear to be tiny. The cloud is at a greater altitude, and remains huge.

While on the sidewalk, I passed a grackle feather, flattened, with a cricket now integrated through pressure and time. This preossified fossil will either become part of the landscape, like the gum above it, or wash away, like the chalk drawing no longer really beside it.

An unspecified sheet of white or clear plastic hangs from a tree limb and flaps in the flabby breeze.

Two turtles sunning on a rock off the east bank of Waller Creek, while two pigeons sit on a drain-pipe. The pipe faces west. The rock outcropping upon which the turtles sit is a concrete artificiality created to add contrast to an otherwise unremarkable stretch of the creek.