Voices on the Wind Voices from Home
A Friday Morning by David Chorlton Red light flashing in the sky: the neighbors want to know. Itís six oíclock and dark. The blades spin, the motor roars, a beam descends from high to scan the streets. Who is it looking for? On Monday it came after midnight, cutting moonlight to shreds. Did he get away? Is someone loose and threatening? Questions, questions. Itís getting louder: put, put, put, and it isnít watching traffic. Nobody was told. Police cars arrived at a certain house at midnight: was anyone arrested? Comes and goes. There should be an alert on the news telling us what, who, when. Anything more than stop-a-stranger-in-the-street-to-ask. After breakfast now. Clouds. The day wears a mask. Who is without sin? Let us search the sky for a sign of redemption.