Saturday, October 29, 2005

Paving The Way

Walden Unleashed

Miles of highway cut through heaping mounds of foliage, halted explosions in variations of orange and red and purple and green and brown and yellow. In the distance: a hill of determinable slope reaches upward toward the horizon. To my left: a bay lined by cat tails and tall grasses; water meets land and in places it’s impossible to discern the glassy surface of the water from the reflections of leaves that meet with the water’s edge and the lily pads that are submerged just below.

Cloud-strained sunlight passes in radiant ripples, forced onward by a cool autumnal breeze: mighty in its effortless push against the clouds, gentle as it brushes against my cheek.

Walden was a vision, a transcendentalist vignette. This is Maryland.

We’ve been joined by a new contingency today. Dawning puffy black coats and baggy jeans, they seem at odds with the environment. Black on black New York Yankee caps, Timberland boots, Sean John labels, these are the members of an urban tribe whose home is far from the pastoral quietude of this wilderness.

Standing on the banks of the river, they stare together, as though looking for the first time or maybe seeing for the first time a wall of trees. They run coyly in ineffective circles, as Charles unleashes handfuls of billowing pussy willow seeds that bob and weave through the air, excited that they too can play with these enchanted people.

For most, it’s unclear why people rise at five AM to board a bus set for nowhere: it’s a counterintuitive, instinctual calling. And for the first five miles or so, it’s still unclear. But wariness grows to interest grows to involvement grows to passion grows to release and reconciliation; there is an effect on the road that is indisputable.

There is a change that occurs, for those who let it. There is a reminder that beyond the canyons of an indifferent city there are spaces where benevolent Nature trumps artifice and in that space ephemeral truth slays cultural illusion. The societal lies we believe from necessity are no longer necessary and their melting and dispersion is the revelation of a more integral self.

Banners and signs, marching and driving, screaming and singing: these are all the calling cards of revolution. As our communal rhythms change so do we and the world around us.

Reposing in sunlight, I’m skeptical of a better way to draw radiance into darkness and color into blackness.

Daniel Solon
10.29.2005

3 Comments:

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