2/10/2003

2/10/2003 - 12:00

Turning left off of solemn gray Wooster road onto Rockcliff in the big white American car felt like floating; slick as a water slide, smooth as a revolving door. Descending into the valley on worn black-top pavement between cement curbs silently guiding as the pale brown trees, silent as well, clung to slopes too steep to climb. Litters of leaves, brown glowing orange in the sunlight, spread to infinity; too many over countless summers springs falls and winters for even God to count. The weep of the crinkled river at the seat of the valley brought me to her on this poker-faced sun shiny snap-cold February morning.

I piloted into a space between yellow lines shut her down and felt my vanity slunk at my reflection: unshaven round polish features in a black wool chapeau. Black worn boots, black corduroy pants and a blue old navy sweatshirt topped off by an olive green cashmere over coat kept me warm and out of syle. I stepped out of the car wrapped like a beatnik bum and lit a lucky strike.

On the path to the river bold fat squirrels feasted intently on something brown (held to their mouths, human-like, with two hands). I strolled by, gloved hands in pockets expecting them to shoot off, but they held their ground, eying me and eating. (laying in twilight before sleep I wished I had stopped to gawk) Fifty feet from the river the Detroit road bridge loomed large and sad and reminded me of the pictures I had snapped of it and the docks below the past summer.

I expected to see ice: flat, snow swirled with some open liquid areas. But now the ice in the river had cracked up on some warm day and then, on a cold night, re-froze; looking chaotic and catastrophic. Heaved up eight inch thick pieces like giant tortilla chips in a long earthen bowl and way past the banks over the walkable shore line. There was a sunken concave quality to the solid mass of broken water. I stopped to peer into an open hole, searching for a critter or a fish or some sign of life amid the frozen wreckage, but found none.

The snow fell in small flakes about two feet apart. Light and slow. No wind to shoot the cold through my clothes. Said "hello" and smiled at a white bearded man and his dog. He didn't smile back, only restrained his dog.

Back in the car I lit another lucky strike and fired up the motor. I love the river and the ice and taking myself out for walks.