waiting for my train, i am overtaken by this light, this summer light, on this not so early june morning. there is a trueness in course, a directness, of light in summer that always rattles me. maybe, it's my asianness, or just my being a son of a mother who takes refuge in silences than in answers. this morning, from where i usually wait on the platform, the light showed me the farthest train track i could possibly see in the entire year. the wooden tracks, still muggy from an early morning showers, writhed under the unequivocating sun. and then the light, without asking for my permission, showed me the dead and putrefying flesh of an inconsequential new york pigeon. what is more cruel than cruel? one that is marked by deep ill will? what morals does this creator have? to allow, to not care, at all, that one of its creations misses all this gloriousness? all this intensity? all this light? all of this summer? can't it wait until winter, perhaps? it had been ten minutes already and the weekend train was still taking its sweet time on some other tracks more damp, slicker than ours, i'd imagine. a cloud, a flimsy one, flew overhead, like a circus distraction while another ring is being peopled with new freaks and tired animals. and the light seemed to report away. where does it go? this vicious light? to serengeti plains in africa? to the grumeti river, perhaps? where the rapacious alligators await the parched, migrating wildebeests?