louise on the left (coast)

A little boy died in front of our home this morning. We were home and heard nothing. He was hit by a SUV on his way to school. The police were talking and I heard one tell the other, "So, I heard the driver say, 'he just came out of nowhere.'  Both cops shook their heads. The driver, a woman about 40-50, was sitting in a folding chair about 50 feet away from me surrounded by people who talked with her sympathetically.   When the cops lifted her vehicle off the crushed remains of the bike, now a twisted, metal pancake, she finally stopped talking and stood up.  She turned and looked in the other direction.  There was an unmistakable awkwardness in the group gathered. I couldn't hear what was being said, but it was clear this was a sign to keep moving. She somehow missed seeing him even though she had a both a stop sign and then a wide road to cross before striking him on our street in front of our house. It was almost noiseless to those of us home. He had

It's three days later on the corner of Iroquois Road and Choctaw Drive, Westminster, Ca. Saturday night, somewhere around 9:30 p.m. Disneyland's fireworks pound out their final salute in the distance.   The fog rolls in.  Temperatures drop.  The day's visitors cease.   And in the dense fog 56 candles silently stand vigil looking out over a silent crossroad.