Fly Away

I've been interrupted three times recently.

The first was on Monday. I was leaving from my house after three days of furious studying for Federal Tax to actually attend the exam. I opened the outer door of my flat and found myself in the busy, smoky scene of a fire four doors down, but all up in my space. Three fire trucks, ambulances, people scurrying. It felt strange, like I had stepped into another world. I couldn't imagine how I missed it all happening. I mean, I can usually hear a flea fart through the single paned windows in my room. How did I miss it? I wasn't sure, but I was a bit annoyed at the commotion.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. Taking a break from my furious study habits, I was just out of the bath. The doorbell rang and it was a fireman offering free home inspections because a man had died in that fire, and they wanted to check my smoke alarms.

The third was that same night -- last night. This time, it was drum beats. Loud and more furious than my studying. Long, wailing singing. A crowd of people on the street, making one noise:

"Fly away. Fly away, home."

This time, I could hear it through my windows. I wanted to run down and make sure it was what I thought, but I thought better of interrupting such a procession.

So, I just listened. And, thought.

"Fly away. Fly away, home."

Somehow, the furious studying didn't seem so important.