The wind at dusk whispers.

cool against my face and arms.

The people at work are on a journey.

Surprise and a little fear on their transparent faces.

Awakening to sibling workers. That they can care about the minor traffic injuries of someone they’ve known a week, or how an employee’s infant children curl into his arms when he gets home at night. That they do care to do their best. That they do care about how their work affects others. That the numbers don’t count as much as putting their hearts into their work, and that the work is authentic.

So much harder, they already see, not to care. So much easier to be real. Oh, it’s some journey, isn’t it. The long windowed building not a ship of fools, but a ship of travellers.