Calm cold December night, walking on the straight as an arrow sidewalks that seem to go on to Cape Cod, stepping over the occasional broken beer bottle that somebody tossed from a car...some punk...past the old cemeteries with spindly naked branches that lost their leaves in the past autumn.They’re all locked up now with graves that have secrets locked away in them like a diary that no one has the key for. Graves from a hundred years ago and a week ago. People who laid claim to some form of importance and some people who just laid claim to some form. Now their some form of something...all these forms are now gone, the formed has changed into the formless except for some old bones and dust laying in a very dark place, filed away like some old papers. They’re all equal for as they say, death is the great equalizer. Past centuries old churches that will be filled with worshipers and singers in a couple of nights for traditional Christmas services. For some people, the only time besides Easter that they attend church. It’s quiet and peaceful and a small plane flies overhead twinkling red and green lights...appropriate for the holidays. I keep walking...past the old white clapboard houses that are long in the tooth, some clean and pristine with intricate outdoor lights-others looking worn-out and shabby. Peeling paint, shutters that hang with gloom. A pedestrian string of lights thrown in the anorexic evergreens in front of the house that stands in a patch of dirt looking like abstract art. Even those places have the spirit. Most of the homes though, they’re all dressed up pretty in Christmas lights sparkling and twinkling, and flashing like stop lights on a busy boulevard somewhere in Europe, and the lights are on with the people inside snug and warm, and the dogs and the cats too. The little children along with the dreams that they dream and the innocence and wonder. They’ve gone to bed, already under their warm blankets for the night. The homes are looking all homey inside with the big trees in the large front windows and the ornaments reflecting the little colored lights hung on the tree. Plenty of guests inside eating dinner and sharing old stories and their plans for next year...maybe take a trip to Europe, reminiscing about what has passed and who has passed. Remembering Grandma or Grandpa or both. Making plans for New Year’s Eve while they refill their drinks in colorful cocktail glasses. I look up at the sky and it glows with the lights and reflections of the snow, and it’s quiet except for an old red truck that chugs down the street. The sidewalks are empty. In the morning they are occupied by old couples leaning on each other, all bundled up and walking their small, chubby dogs who are all bundled up in their bright sweaters. Young boys on old bikes delivering the morning newspaper with the latest news, and a forecast of snow for Christmas, horoscopes, society pages, Dear Abby, and last nights hockey scores; Bruins 4 Montreal 3, Chicago Blackhawks 2 New York Rangers 1. Right now it’s dark and getting darker, getting late and getting later. I just got off work and just got off the bus and now I just want to get home. I stick my cold hands inside the pockets of my thin jacket and keep walking...walk, walk, walk...past the clapboard houses and all the merriment to my little dark studio apartment with no cheerful Christmas lights, no dogs, no plans.
