Yesterday, on my walk, I noticed the first signs of fall, plants transitioning, dying really. I have never been one to grieve the loss of summer. I enjoy the cool crisp air of autumn. I love the changing hues of the trees. I am reminded that life is always changing; nature is all about transition.
A few feet from my house I notice something smashed into the pavement. It is a little frog; I am sure it is the one that startled me when it jumped from my bicycle helmet a few days ago. A symbol of luck and joy? Maybe not. Transition? Yes.
On the road a few minutes later I notice the remains of a squirrel; the victim of a speeding car. It was flattened except for the two deaf ears that pointed toward heaven. I looked closely at the eyes, little beads devoid of life. He was clearly gone.
I started to fantasize about finding a body in the brush by the side of the road. I have seen plenty of crime dramas; women are discarded in areas like this on the outskirts of town. They are usually naked; their bodies bruised and broken. I imagine how frightening and traumatic it would be to see such a thing.
There is almost no shoulder and I am forced to walk in the road. I start to notice the bends that might obscure the view of approaching cars. Would a car speeding around one of these curves see me? Could I jump in the brush to save myself? Would there be time? Could I end up like the squirrel or the imaginary woman: my body broken, my spirit gone?
No comments:
Post a Comment