Blossoming Detours

That's Sursugar at night, just outside the gate to the old city and the main bazaar. The Performing Arts Faculty,  my formal, though loose, connection sits in the dark across the lake in this photo. Arriving there the other morning, Ben and I watched  public workers load an elderly dead man, shroudless, into the back of a municipal vehicle. Rigor mortis had caught his arms bending at the elbow forming right angles to his body. He must have died on his back, reaching for the sky.