On New Jersey highways, while driving 65+ MPH, the water drops run at a more horizontal angle. Not so on a stop-and-go city bus.

After the doctor’s appointment, which was a check-up, which is to say I got nothing out of it, I walk through Cadman Plaza. Bare trees abound. They catch my attention a lot these days.

On the train home later today, I’ll read the following sentence in Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:

My mind branches and shoots like a tree.

I will think about how the trees catch my attention, and know that this is why.

But that will happen later. Right now I’m walking towards the train so that I can read the sentence. On Jay Street I pass by the altar for the dead dog.

The altar has been there for at least a year, probably several. It’s always made me happy because it’s an expression of love for an animal companion and because no one has been sick enough to destroy it. I also really like the objects devoted to the puppy. I wonder what stories each of them holds.

I board the train, and continue reading.