On The Road Again...
Today was a beautiful day where I am, and we certainly did it justice!
A walk on the seawall, a coffee and a good book on the beach, a mini road trip to get hot fudge sundaes....we spent the sunlight hours doing things that felt like weekend things to do, and not just leftover work and assignments and household chores.
The sky was the most perfect shade of blue all day long, and stayed that way until a glowing sliver of moon appeared overhead. The air was warm and full of promise everywhere we went: next to the water it was redolent with salt and sand; through the mountains, it was crisp with fir and soil and the faint smell of rock dust, kicked up by blasting; and near home, the new blossoms on the trees gave off a slight, sweet perfume, and the spicy wares of street vendors sent a siren's call I was barely able to ignore.
And...we saw roadkill!
For the second time in a week, we drove past a deceased fuzzy creature on a stretch of road nearby that doesn't normally see a lot of raccoon/cat/rat/dog mayhem. I noted it aloud the first time, and Kristy noted it today. Crazy!
We began theorizing as to why there might be an increase in the vehicular homicide rates for these little guys, and the best explanation I could come up with was this:
It's Spring!
(note: I took Biology 12. I did not take any biology courses before that, nor have I since. I took it by correspondence in three weeks. All I remember is a video of a fetal pig, looking for all the world like an opaque pink gummi bear. All the theory that follows is therefore divorced from the foundations of empirical science, and culled from MegTheory.)
As the weather grows warmer, and wee wildlife babies are being born, and all of nature spins into a hormonal tizzy, animals go a bit further afield to seek food and mates and other good things. Some of this 'afield' stuff causes them to cross major highways, and perhaps erroneously assume that the oncoming Ford Taurus intends to stop for them. This misjudging of auto-intent results in...you guessed it...big pain for small furries.
Being a writer, I tend to see metaphorical possibilities in everything. Even roadkill.
I said to Kristy that we seem to toss our hearts out in harm's way this time of year, just like those animals take a big, scary risk in skittering across the thoroughfare. We see something we want, and we go for it, heedless of the cost. Once we find ourselves inflamed with the passion of the growing/birthing/budding season, it's game over for our common sense.
As of late, I've seen even the most demure folks I know showing more skin, girls piling on more lipgloss, men...uh....not wearing white socks (black ones with shorts don't count either, you know who you are!), flirting becoming a contact sport, and everyone wandering around looking doe-eyed and dippy-faced. The singles want a companion so badly they can taste it like the breath mints they pop compulsively, 'just in case'. The couples can't keep their hands off one another, which makes the singles even more frustrated than they were previously.
The whole world is just a giant heart-shaped mess.Or maybe a roadkill-shaped mess...because for every love story that hits the mark, five more get smushed by the romantic equivalent of a Jeep Cherokee.
We keep on taking the risks, though, because our biology and Hallmark, Inc. command that we do so.
And as any man knows at Valentine's Day, there are no two more powerful forces at work on this earth. 
2:21:37 AM 
|
