THE REFLECTION OF THE REVOLVING BEACON ON THE CANAL WATER

Dear Delyara, An incident occurred at the main lock gates tonight, and for three hours, the dark water of the canal was stained a brilliant, rhythmic electric blue. Two response vehicles pulled up onto the towing path, their strobe lights throwing intense, frantic arcs across the rusted iron of the floodgates and right through my office window. It is 2:14 AM now, and the quiet has returned, but my eyes are still adjusting to the dark. The sheer, uncompromising authority of that light—the way it completely stripped the industrial park of its usual grey monotony—stayed with me. I sat in the stillness afterward, listening to the tide lap against the stone wall, realizing how quickly the night can be broken by a single flash of reality.