The wind is blowing hard tonight. It's six in the morning. I woke up at four and couldn't get back to sleep for all the rattling and shaking of my apartment house. It's still blowing fast and heavy. Somewhere in town, a gong or a deep throated bell is ringing. It happens every morning at this hour. I don't know who does this or if it's something automated. It makes me think of home, though, of Youngstown, of my apartment on the Northside next to all the churches and the way the bells rang at certain hours. Sometimes I wake up hearing the bell here and for a moment I am back home again.
Random thoughts, memories, convoluted therapeutic ramblings, a billboard of love.