Jeremy was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed with a pad of heavy drawing paper on his knees.

Morning sun came through the white linen curtains and lit up the blue charcoal in his hand.

He didn’t look up when I dragged the wooden desk chair over beside his knee and sat down.

On the page he’d drawn the tall stone arch of the Blackwood River bridge.

Beneath it, the water was full of black zigzag lines that filled the bottom edge of the paper.

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked him.