On a quiet Friday morning.

Like an idiot, I'm in early once again.

There are fewer people here than in Chernobyl.

Outside there's a beautiful late summer day. 

The Friday before a long weekend.

Looking east, there are some wisps of cirrus cloud.

Elsewhere nothing but blue.

In the Hudson sits a huge tanker waiting for a pier so it can unload.

It sits there stolid like an old man waiting for the dentist or his tax accountant.

Inside, there is only the assertive whisper of white noise emanating from the ceiling. It's supposed to cancel out the chaos of our open plan. It's about as successful as a moth
flying through a tornado.

I like the quiet.

I like having the quiet to see what's around me.

I like having the quiet to reflect and actually think.

They call Labor Day the last weekend of summer. 

Though summer doesn't really end for three more weeks.

And the warm weather probably won't end till around Thanksgiving.

This is, after all, the Anthropocene Period.

A fancy-schmancy way of saying that we have reached the fullest flower of human-caused environmental destruction.

Whatevs.

It's a beautiful day.

And I have work to do.