Legible Light

Most mornings on my way to work, I pass this statue that I have come to think of as the headless hammer guy.  He is planted in a manner that conceals his handicap along a lovely stretch of 17th Street just west of Market,  where a row of  Victorian homes is separated from the sidewalk by a low wall and a short hillside of terraced gardens. These gardens are regularly tended without being over-manicured,  and on the street side of the sidewalk are large planters containing small trees, or big flowers, or both–creating a fifty-foot-long tunnel of green.  Lately, I would have said that the statue had his eye on me  (if he had an eye, that is) as if he wished to make a request.   Finally I figured it out what he might want, and the next time I came by, I brought my camera.