Michigan in March
Of all the Meadian gifts from Zeus, the sudden surprise of nature has always been my favorite. A wise man once said that those who set out to appreciate nature are the ones most likely to miss it. The converse is also true: Those who set out with no thought to nature are most likely to find it.
And that's been my experience, albeit one that hits most often when I've been drinking.
And tonight, I was struck by the remnants of death: of winter and its lifelessness. No trees are budding and no flowers blooming. But there is a moon and streetlights. The brittle tree limbs sit still, as if afraid to move for fear they'll break. All still.
That's what captured my attention tonight. I slowed my walk to a slow stroll, head up looking at the tree shadows and moon and a few stars. All silent.
This lasted for about ten minutes.
Then a car came blasting down the street, stereo blasting, windows down (45 degrees is warm this time of year).
A "mechanical Jacobin." That's how another wise man described the car. And though I like cars, at times like these–moments shattered by that metallic beast–I tend to agree.
