About a year ago, after getting off the bus, I saw a corner house (this was not a walk home) which always had a flag hanging on a post near the mailbox. It was an older guy who lived there, and in the early twilight I saw that the flag had been set on fire. I quickly put it out, it was just singed around the edges. I knocked on the guy's door--it was then that I discovered his age--and he thanked me, telling me that it was the third flag that had been set on fire that year. The other week, I was passing by that fellow's house and had to take a photo of the telephone pole near the mailbox. Maybe the person setting fire to the flags found himself in a position to see the flames from a different perspective. One can only hope. I only run into the old guy every few months, he still unfurls the flag, and we still wave at each other, acknowledging our respective existence in the city confines...Wayne
