|
|
(judging from my meager stats, not many would have missed the lack of an entry, yesterday... but, occasionally, more intimate contact with kindred souls on the other side of the monitor take precedence. a better place to spend the night. and i slept much better. you know who you are. ;) maybe i should give more substance to those strange little coincidences that pester me, from time to time. occasionally, they might be a sign of something else to come. last week, less than a mile from the lane that takes me to my little bungalow, the dark two-lane was strobed with blue-and-yellow lights (payback for using the word "strobed", last week), and i slowly came to a halt behind a transfer truck... driver's side just angled a bit to get a better look down the road to the action. fast forward to last night. the last few miles in the tunnel of the dark are always the most dreary. nothing to see but branches laced together, in an endless arch... solid yellow line, like a third-rail for the nose of the car to follow. eyes partly unfocused to better the peripheral vision... for when the animals dart out of the black in the impulsive temtation of fate ("impulsive"... that word is deadlier than it appears). then, the retina-blasting flame of the intermittant oncoming headlights. which, truth be told, ceased altogether. i thought it would be one of those rare nights when i felt like the only person awake, and moving, in the world. that was, until i swept around the curve that lead to the Rapidan river bridge. history repeats.
i'm always uncomfortable of this stretch of highway. several years ago, when we experienced our second "five-hundred year flood", this place was like a causeway in the bay... just a narrow spit of land between ugly orange expanses of pestilence. a couple of years later, it was where my intoxication put me in a ditch. ahead, a plume of orange-black smoke rose like a Stygian tapestry behind a foreground of flashing blue-and-red-and-yellow chaos. a county cop had pulled across both lanes, distancing the few cars and the inevitable tractor-trailer i drew to a stop behind from the Hellishness. too far to see details, or even human activity... but the thirty-foot flames that grew and detached and billowed gave funereal notice. hazard lights on, the motor still running, i dug out my camera from the tailgate and strode to the only two people i could see: a stubby fireplug of a country boy, and a braided and beaded trucker Brother. as we accustomed ourselves to our dialects, i was told that someone had fallen asleep at the wheel, and plowed into a truck that had been abandoned beside the road. they didn't have to tell me that the ending wasn't pretty. conflicted, i took a few snaps... thinking that maybe the local news would be interested in photos for the news... which didn't turn out to be the case (only photos sanctioned by the police were acceptable. disappointed and relieved, i felt... disappointed that proximity and initiative again prove useless, relieved that i wouldn't be because of someone else's misfortune). then, i slowly walked back to the car with heavy steps... and turned the volvo around to find roads even more dark and treacherous. i squeezed out a spine-shaking shudder when crossed the river, again, on the long span next to the old mill... invisible in the black. i'm not looking forward to next week. but today... i will grasp that. |
|
|
