Jeff Cangialosi

My commute includes a drive across a suspension bridge. Each night, the bridge is lit up in a different color, typically corresponding to the day of the week. The passing of the week is marked as I drive past the orange, blue, or green lights. Occasionally, a special occasion leads to a break from the pattern. Regardless of the nighttime color though, the next morning before the sun has risen the bridge is illuminated in plain white light again.

My regular train time of 6:23am means that in the winter I regularly see the plain white illumination in the morning. Some days, however, I notice one faint blue light illuminating a single cable strand on the bridge. It’s not always there, but it’s a small break in the uniformity of plane white light that causes me to double take. I like to imagine that there is a keeper of the lights who literally forgot to flip off the colored light in favor of the plain white light when her or his nighttime shift ended. Of course, the lighting system is likely fully automated and programmed with a computer; nevertheless, it brings me a little joy each time I notice this blue light to think that someone left the light on.