The Santa Monica College Bundy Campus building is enclosed with reflective-glass. I was sitting in a chair near the front entrance when an attractive woman, presumably a student, dressed in jeans and a button down blouse walked past. She was having a serious conversation with someone on her Bluetooth. The juxtapositioning of her reflection with the setting sun made me a bit nostalgic; made me fanaticize about what I could do if I could know what I know now, and be that young. The setting sun made me think of the song “Taps.”

I could hear the amalgamation of a crow’s cawing and the muffled chattering of two students about fifty feet away. Both sounds were drowned out by the Doppler effect of the sound of a car turning into the parking lot, driving past, and then fading as its driver found a parking space among the five rows of parked cars. As the engine is shut-off, a policeman using a loud speaker could be heard barking orders to someone being pulled over on Centinella Ave. A campus security guard’s walky-talky chirped.

From the direction of the airport, I first heard the buzzing of an electrical circular saw cutting through a piece of wood then the cacophonous beeping of a delivery truck backing up, until presumably, the driver found a spot to retire the truck for the day. Then one of those whacky looking home-made airplanes on final approach whooshed past tattered and faded orange windsocks at the beginning of the runway which drooped listlessly downward as though melancholy that it was a breezeless day.

My own cell phone rang – it was spam. I observed the automatic sprinkler system and the twelve light poles in the parking lot with 4 silver rectangular lights. The lights are automatically lit nightly by a sensor that detects darkness. I smiled as I reminisced about my former paleoanthropology professor who taught us that humans are the only species on earth who have become tool-dependant for survival.

I pondered the legend of Narcissus who fell in love with his own image looking into a reflective pool of water pining over the death of his sister. One can infer from this story that mirrors didn’t exist at this time because this was the first time that Narcissus had ever seen himself. We might further infer that mirrors didn’t exist because the elders prohibited their creation in anticipation of what could happen. Perhaps the underlying story being told here is of innocence lost. For Narcissus, the pond was the tool that became his master.

I thought that it was not so long ago that making a phone call was something you put on your “to do” list. Phones were attached a wall. I thought about the tools that free us from repetitive tasks, entertain us, make us more productive; and are supposed to give us more time.

Still pensive, I gazed at the orange and blue flowers at the entrance to the building only to be interrupted by my newfound friend the crow who began to caw frenetically. One has to wonder if he was aware that what he appeared to be doing is what sentient beings call communication? Was he consciously trying to convey a message; and to whom: what excited him so? I silently mused “may be this was the first time he’s ever seen himself in a mirror.”

I wanted to stay. I wanted to listen. But class was about to begin and if I hurried back I’d have time to send the emails I hadn’t gotten to yet and put the final touches on my homework.

Time; there never seem to be enough.