The rising sun never lit the windows of Colin’s London home. For the first few hours of daylight, Big Ben eclipsed the sun, shadow pointing west like a giant finger, covering his house with darkness. Waking from a dream in which he ran and ran after something he could never catch, Colin stumbled out the front door in his pajamas, blinking furiously. He scratched his head, and ran his hand through his disheveled hair, wondering at how short it is, and pulling it down over his forehead to see how far it would reach. Tripping down the walk in his slippers, the sleepy city coming to life, busses flew by filled with hungover commuters nearing a destination they wonder that they bothered to strive for in the first place. Colin turned and walked up the street, counting the slabs of the pavement, carefully stepping over every crack. Coming near to the edge of the shadow of Big Ben, Colin turned back towards his home, counting backwards the panels of the pavement. Another bus rushed by, the wind of its approach pushing Colin away from the street; the wind of its wake pulling him back towards it. Sensing someone coming towards him on the sidewalk, Colin looked up from the pavement to see a raggedly clothed person with an exceptional look of bewilderment on his face. He looked to be in his mid-to-late forties, but the condition of his hair and skin made it difficult to tell his age. He walked without swaying or stumbling, but was frequently arrested in his progress by an intense, childlike interest in the world around him. A large van driving by caused him to freeze in his tracks, face the street, and follow the path of the van with his eyes until it drove out of sight. He then imitated the passing of the van with his hand and made whooshing sounds with his mouth, not excitedly, but contemplatively, like one who is trying very hard to understand something. When he reached Colin, the ragged man said hello with a distracted air as his eyes scanned the surrounding area. Colin responded with hello, and started to step past the ragged man, when the man’s hand came up, and he said, “Please, um, I’ve lost my way, could you tell me how…” voice trailing off as he follows the flight of a bird, “um, could you tell me which way it is?”
           “Which way what is?”
           “Which way is, is heaven?”
The ragged man spoke calmly and unenthusiastically, as if he was merely asking for directions to a convenience store. At this point, a deep, familiar sound filled the air, and the ragged man stood, enthralled by the sound, staring up at Big Ben in awe. Colin followed the ragged man’s eyes, then looked across at the shadow of the tower stretching out to the west. A wry smile crossed his face, then saddened slightly, and a wistful mist clouded his eyes. Colin looked full at the ragged man, and pointed his arm directly west, like Big Ben’s shadow. The ragged man looked at him gratefully, shook his hand, and ambled more quickly up the street, and turned to go west at the first intersection. Colin faced west, and looked hard at something on the other side of what he could see. He felt fluttering around him, and the sensation that many eyes he could not see were watching him from a distance. He shivered, and turned up the walk, as the sun peaked over Big Ben at last, the tip of the shadow now pointing at Colin’s head, his hair shining in the sun.