Rescue

It is rush hour when I reach the traffic circle, the island appearing and disappearing between the cars. I park farther up, and lug my duffel bag to the intersection. On the sidewalk of each corner, I take out a soup bowl and set it down, filling it with ice-cold water from my running bottles. I catch the curious looks of revolving faces. 

Back behind the wheel, I drive slowly through the old neighborhood, pulling over at intervals to let other cars pass. A tricky maneuver in these narrow, twisty streets.  

The blaze of sunset gives way to a dreamy, periwinkle sky of fables and fairy tales. But darkness is imminent. The blue hour transposed. For a panicked moment I am disoriented but then recognize a front yard. A garden spotlight shines on a papier-mâché piñata that hangs from a basketball hoop like a unicorn moon.