For the second time since school began this year, my route to work was blocked by police activity. Yellow tape stretched across the intersection. Numerous emergency vehicles and crime scene investigation truck. The first time it happened, I chalked it up to wandering into a coincidental catastrophe, not unlike the one I encountered last year when I had to bike several blocks out of my way to stay clear of the major intersection that was blocked off after two police cars had collided in the early morning hours.
In the rain.
Happily, my two encounters with crime scenes this year have not included the complication of precipitation. The less happy part of these experiences is the part where I have to wonder if the corridor which I have picked for my commute is the safest one. I tend to consider the route I take from my home to school to be my neighborhood. This is primarily because there are houses all along the way that share a friendly wave, or at least a head bob as I pass in the afternoons. The mornings are a different deal, since for a great portion of those trips, I travel under cover of darkness. The interactions I have are limited to those on either end, farewell from my wife and greetings from our custodian when I arrive on campus.
Unless my way is blocked by police barricades.
Then it starts to occur to me that these are dangerous times, and that this is a dangerous place, and maybe I should be more cautious in my commute. I know that if I were to examine a map of crime scenes I might be hard pressed to find a path that would take me on a crisis-free journey from point to point. Instead, I should probably be happy to count my blessings and continue to enjoy the way I manage to avoid trouble by plunging into the heart of it. Or slide neatly into its wake.