A plowed field with little puddles in the furrows that overtop their banks, reminders of the deluge a week past. Like a memory of it but not the real thing. Sad in their way of reminding us of what's gone and can't come back.
An older man walking down a concrete path to his car in the company lot. Weathered blue jacket and work pants, he drives home to an empty house, falls asleep alone to wake tomorrow and go to work again.
The way the light falls on the train approaching sunset, slightly dulled yellow-orange, passes over it and makes shadows on the other side.
Empty streets in the dusk where no one goes. Open doors left open unattended and broken windows uncared for.
The open expanse of the harbor at Lynn, blue-black and soulless, looks like it goes on forever.
These things I saw from my window. They were sad, but didn't sadden me.