I continued on down the street and suddenly it occurred to me that the light wasn’t just randomly blinking. It was using Morse code! It was trying to communicate with me! I stopped in my tracks and tried to remember the sequence of flashes. I don’t know Morse code and unfortunately I forgot to take my Morse code secret decoder ring with me when I left the house, but I knew if I could remember the sequence of dots and dashes I could look it up online. I know that SOS is ... --- ... but this wasn’t a symmetrical pattern. It was more like ..-. ..- --.--- I turned around and improvised a quick speed session back to the light. I stopped under the light completely out of breath and stared up at it, waiting for it to repeat its message to me. The light did not flash. It remained on, a steady beacon of defiance. I pleaded with it, “can you say that again?” Nothing. “I didn’t understand.” Still nothing.
It occurred to me how stupid I was being trying to talk to a streetlight that had no ears. In a moment of brilliance I held my Garmin up high in the air and flashed the backlight. Of course as I mentioned all I know in Morse code is SOS, so that was the signal I sent but surely it would respond to me now. Surprisingly, still nothing. Perhaps someone else was watching and the streetlight’s message was for my eyes only.
I finished my run in a state of disappointment. I mean, how many times does a streetlight try to communicate with you? And I missed it. I am sure that if I keep running in the wee hours of the morning that the light will try again, and next time I’ll be ready for it.
When I arrived back home and awoke my wife to tell her about my exciting discovery she rolled her eyes at me, rolled over to go back to sleep and then said “the bulb probably just needs replaced.” She thinks she’s soooo smart. The bulb needs something alright, and it was important enough that it was trying to tell me.