Home > Social Criticism, Uncategorized > A Little Snow

A Little Snow

A few ice crystals drifting in on the breeze this December dawn touch on change, the advent of winter and some other thing.   Christmas for those who celebrate.  A bit of Hanukkah come and gone.  The Solstice is going to be here after there are humans.

Lost quite a few humans recently around me, my family, families close to mine, close friends, tenuous acquaintances – a lot of cancer this quarter, it seems.

Sweet pain of life, terrifying joy, illusory happiness, pathetic sadness, weakness, strength, delusion, make me a cardboard box house and we’ll cook gourmet meals over a trash can fire, you and I.  Not interested?  What good are you?  Where is your sense of adventure?

Cloud canopy refracts the scant sun across the sky in a milky dimness, a sleepy soft light that dulls the sharp edges of the traffic in which I ride my bicycle, a few tiny snowflakes stinging my chin.  My shoulders don’t quite fit between two truck mirrors.  I brush the one on the parked truck on my way by.

The machine is malfunctioning, dysfunctioing or perhaps just functioning, but not for me, it feels like.  The engine gets a little off balance and the whole thing starts to feel like its shaking apart.  Is there blame?  That would make some kind of sense?

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

I ran several red lights, got a green one followed by two more red ones, which I also ran.

I wear two lights on my helmet.  Two more are mounted on my bike.  White blinky lights in front, red blinky lights in back:  one red blinky light on my messenger bag.  I have been compared to a Christmas tree – favorably.

This new person may provide an escape route or a means to less damaging servitude.   I will answer his questions with innocence and receptiveness and be open to his suggestions for change.  I was thinking of asking to work from home when the machine blew up.  I think the universe is telling me I need to continue to ride in traffic in the cold dark.

Running late I make Ruggles Station hard by Northeastern University.  There are only a few school kids around this morning waiting for the bus, walking around in hoodies and enormous shoes.  Half the lights in the station are unlit and the train platform is mostly dark.  I guess they are saving energy.  People get stabbed at this station, so I maintain unafraid readiness for engagement, open and receptive to all things, fellow humans, the press of them, their weapons.

There is poetry to do.  I need to do it.

  1. December 14, 2010 at 10:22 pm

    nice post

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