I had been sent to Jackson Park, an industrial neighborhood on the west side of chicago. It is where the bronze foundry was located. I drove past family owned restaurants way past their prime, with billboards placed out front advertising their banquet -sized party rooms and bargain meals available for sunday brunch. I carried on down the street, staring ahead but not really seeing. This tends to be my way of operating these days, going through the motions, one might say, in a non-reactionary way. This small voyage to the blue collar factory (in every sense of the word for everyone wore blue snap up work suits) seemed different though.I turned down a small side street where a mass of billowing smoke would greet me. Though only feet before my arrival I stopped for a moment and looked,really looked. There, before me, stood what I thought to be a run down freight train, only to realize that it belonged to the Ringling Bros. Circus. My eyes traced the jubilant emblem on every cart as I quietly yelped to myself. I don't know what it was, but there was something that was quite surreal in that moment. I sat there, the sun beating down, as I just kind of admired the animal cargo that quietly sat in this hidden spot on the west side of chicago. It was magical. I was hoping to spot an elephants trunk waving out at me or to be accompanied by a lions roar but neither of those things happened. The train sat as I sat, mindfully in the moment which was really all i needed.