The air was warm and unsettling. A juxtaposition of comfort and confusion. A normally dry, frigid temperature stings the face, but instead we are gifted with anomalous nature. Saturday nights are for magic and so shall it be. The noise of a town rambles away. The fireworks of a celebration. I wondered what they were celebrating: a birthday? A life achievement? Anniversary? Holiday cheer? The thoughts are endless. The noises of a town in the middle of the night are always mysterious. Night time is for the sleepless. The ones who wander without reason or cause, but simply because. What was with the noise? The warmth? It was all but normal.
The sound of the streets is something we take for granted. It is noise of constant movement. The sound of the feet crunching against the snow and ice. The slight fear shakes the mind because you’re never sure if you have a firm grip or you’re about to slip. Perhaps we could learn a lot from life if we observe such simple tasks as walking on ice. Who needs self-help books when you have walking in a winter night in Canada? My mind and body continue this trail of the unknown. No purpose, no goal, just walking. My mind thinks of my dead brother, my love for a woman, a pack of coyotes coming to devour me, wonder among what people are doing as they drive by. A barrage of thoughts that are not connected at all, but merely thoughts. Freedom much like the freedom of walking in the winter night.
A young man walked by me. He gave me a slight glance as he drew his cigarette to his mouth to inhale. It was an interesting experience. He was lightly dressed in a long sleeve shirt and baggy blue jeans. He wore a baseball cap that was covered by a hood and was thin and about 5ft, 9in. I contemplated for a moment based on stereotypes if this man could cause me harm. Did he fit some profile that would cause me harm? Why did I think this? Is it because those who walk at night are not to be trusted? The night has association of evil. The animals all come out at night is something I recall from the film “Taxi Driver.” Why did I fear for a moment? He very well could have thought the same? Maybe he wasn’t thinking at all? It is so odd and intrinsic when you get in touch with your thoughts on such a sporadic event. I never walk in the evening let alone the Winter so why now? Why at all?
The playgrounds are empty. A place where children are often seen dangling from various structures smiling, sliding through plastic slides, and soaring through the air on the swing sets. It was an odd observation. A playground unoccupied felt eerie. It was like some youthful joy has been stripped away because of the cold nature of Winter. Why is it that a season can bring so much joy for some, but so much darkness for others? This juxtaposition is ongoing throughout the season. I mean look at the holidays. The houses are riddled with such beautiful, bright, colorful lights. The entire town is bright with joy, but is it all joy? I wondered yet again about others. A season where kids celebrate the mythical, folkloric tale of an obese man dressed in a red costume, magically fitting into a chimney. He breaks into peoples homes and drops presents in exchange for milk and cookies. The adults look towards family and stress. The stress of meeting deadlines: finance, gift choices, decorations, tree care, excessive food and alcohol. Some families will be celebrating together, some will be sad from memory and pain, some will cry, some will laugh. Simplicity of daily life, teaching us lessons that are reiterated among self-help books that claim to have the answers to solving the big questions of life.
The man looks to the stars, the ever-longing gaze as if to seek answers, but answers to what? What are we looking for? Is this not the point? We simply gaze because we gaze. A mixture of matter touching us on such an intrinsic level that we can’t help, but contemplate the unknown. A weird friction that sends goosebumps up our arms. A spark of life shifting from a simple task. It is not the accomplishment, but the journey. The journey is what drives us, it is what we thrive on and love. The journey is what gives us a sense of purpose as we trail aimlessly throughout the juxtaposed state. We are in love, we are grieving, we are happy, we are sad, we are fearful, we are confused, we are wanderlust, we are grounded, we are the embodiment of unknown. One step, one breath and one gaze as we trek into the great unknown. How mysterious and cruel.
The needle to the thread
The living and dead
See the footsteps of unknown
On the same journey
The journey of home
