There it goes again, the wail of the ambulance from its home up the road down to our corner. Louder it gets, and louder. I can imagine exactly its ride: by the playing field and down around that bend in the road that becomes a lazy S curve before it straightens somewhat. By the sound, just passing the hatchery where the eagle will sit on the tall old dead tree. It gives him an excellent view of the stream, catching glints of swimming silver that do not know he is there.
At its loudest now, right at the corner; without stopping it lessens its sound. Turned at the corner, I will not see it go by. It is going to help strangers–neighbors not known. The sound fades as it heads down the main road and I wonder, Why this sense of relief?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology