Happy Holidays

A moth just went fluttering by the window, out of the dark and against the glass, and reminded me of a snowflake from a somewhat different time of year being tossed up out of the night. More often than not I have to shine a flashlight out into the storm to really be aware that snow is falling. But if the weather is particularly fierce, the flakes waft up against the glass and you know they mean business. Okay, it's only late September. It could be two or three weeks before we see snow. The Equinox is tomorrow morning at 5:06 EDT, and I won't quite be awake to greet it, although I'll be there 24 minutes later. Close enough; it'll be dark, either way.
  
My holiday season begins with Halloween, actually, and includes about ten major and minor events, give or take. There can be others, but it's exhausting enough already. In recent years we've cut back a bit on some of the celebrating and found that we didn't really miss it. Any parties that want to spring up spontaneously and stomp around the house boozing and singing the night away are welcome, to the point where I really just want to go to bed. Then they can booze and stomp on out into the snow -- maybe go play with the goats. Alas, goats are diurnal, too, and don't really appreciate being awakened at odd hours any more than I do. The horse would probably enjoy it, though. She's a nut job from the get-go.

So, it's merrily on into the long, dark night. I like the way it sparkles and smells of spices and cold. There will be appropriate food and drink, the actions of strongly encouraged ritual, the opportunity to deny all of those and still find a way to mark the passage of all those metaphorical mile markers. Coming out the other side, I'll set my sights on May and be ready to think about gardening again.  Oh, yuk. I still have to finish digging the potatoes, don't I? I could die right now and be so invested in the patterns of the future, I wouldn't know it. Anybody have anything they need to tell me?

trash stream

My mother was riding along as I was driving off to Montpelier to fetch my daughter from the bus stop, and she noticed that someone had taken trash from the side of the road -- coffee cups, beer cans and such -- and stood them up right in the middle of the road! Sort of unsightly, she thought. She's the kind of person who collects trash in a bag when she goes for a walk. Very admirable behavior, certainly.

I, on the other hand, am the sort of person who takes trash from the side of the road and stands it up right in the middle for all and sundry to see and, very often, run over. Bud Ice cans -- the very tall ones -- make such a nice scrunchy wet sound when they roll with the undercarriage of a low-slung Toyota. Most drivers are very good at avoiding such strategically placed ornaments, and it's no easy task getting enough of them in the way that they can't all be missed.

And why do I do this? Why don't I just be a good citizen and bloody well collect the garbage and take it home --  out of sight, out of mind? Well, that's it exactly. Here's the thing about roads -- while I know we're not the only species to have them, still in some specific way they very much define what we are as humans. And the profusion of detritus that we so easily scatter from our personal conveyances define us as well. I like to emphasize that point.  If I just collect the stuff and take it home to the trash, I deprive all and sundry driving down the road of a perfect opportunity to contemplate the true nature of our species. A bag full of McDonalds leftovers -- half a shake and some sandy fries -- speak volumes about the kind of creatures we are. Bud Lite, Diet Pepsi and Twisted Tea all placed like Space Odyssey monoliths down the center line are a message to the multiverse: this is what we are! We drive our roads, doing things and being purposeful. And this is the mark we leave to show where we have been and what we have accomplished. Our lives are short, but we leave our mark, and we will not be forgotten.