hot

Hot.

On the corner of Randolph and Upper Columbus I pass the artist formerly known as "purple coat lady". Her signature rolling luggage still sits at her side, but the heavy purple woolen coat has been traded down for a denim jacket. This garb also looks a bit hot for the weather. But her face is well tanned and almost looks to be happily turned toward the very bright morning sun.

For a few days i've been happily remarking on the return of the fat spider to the window outside my office. How they climb all the way up here and what they find to eat at this high perch I don't know. But she stretches her fine web across the window between the girders and grows fat and brown. today I hear the sound of thudding on the outside of the building and turn around to see the thin ropes going up the side of the building. in minutes smallish brown men with suction cups on their hands and only the smallest seat to secure thier tenuous ride up and down the outside of the building, have washed the windows clean. I look at them and marvel for a minute that they hang at such a height from such delicate threads, but to them this might be normal. Spiders of any size have learned not to look down.

Just for one more day I tell myself to look, observe, breathe and be. Not to think.