The Ohio is significantly wider here than it is back home and there's quite a breeze up on the bridge. At one point a great blue heron flies beneath the bridge, perhaps the only time I'll ever have a heron flying under my feet.
|Wait, which bridge should I take?|
|Hotel carpet. Somebody thought this was a good idea.|
And then there are the chickens. I happened upon them yesterday and had to go back today with the camera because they are like no birds I've ever encountered, with their multiple misshapen heads and dotty bodies. They are the work of the late Louisville artist Marvin Finn and they roost in a sculpture garden called Flock of Finns. The many-headed one looks like me after I've been immersed in mediocre essays for a few days.
I've made it halfway through my week of AP essay grading without tossing any papers into the river, although I've been sorely tempted more than once. The crowded grading room makes me more claustrophobic every day, but I think I've found a solution: late tonight I'll sneak out and steal that sign from the bridge, and if too many graders intrude upon my personal space, I'll just throw them over the side.