NOVEMBER 5, 2020 – I was angry all day yesterday, despite Biden’s chance of winning by a hair, or more precisely, because of his chance of winning only by a hair. With effort I assumed a happy face for our five-year old granddaughter, who was happily oblivious to the impact that the election will have on her future. She lightened my day when she asked if we could walk to the cabin, and I said, “It’d take a while,” and she concurred, saying, “A lot of whiles.”
By late afternoon when I departed (by car) for the Red Cabin (Note to self: ask spouse about painting it a different color), I was in a deep, dark funk. Speaking of whom . . . she was planning to drive separately for a shorter stay but said she’d wait till morning after a good night’s sleep, since she hadn’t slept at all the night before.
While I was refueling at a station perched on the Minnesota side of the St. Croix River, a pick-up roared past toward the bridge to Wisconsin. A big “TRUMP” sticker covered the back window, and a large American flag attached to a jerry-rigged pole flapped noisily in sync with the growling engine. My despair reverted to anger.
For the next two hours I contemplated today’s post. One possibility: “I have nothing to say.” Another was a diatribe replete with expletives. Yet another was a prediction regarding how the country will unravel from here. But my latest political prediction (a blue tsunami) flopped miserably, proving that I’m no soothsayer. As the miles passed, I struggled with topics—I was too distraught to make sense of America as we now find it. Two major swerves and squealing brakes to avoid deer did nothing to jolt me out of angry depression.
Well after dark I pulled up to the cabin. I alighted from the car and lifted out a box of food supplies for the week ahead. When I was halfway to the back steps, the car lights shut off. Darkness surrounded me.
But not total darkness. I looked skyward and damned near dropped the food box. A gazillion stars sparkled overhead. Through the naked trees of the surrounding woods I saw more of the heavens.
I set the box down and stood bedazzled by gem-lit infinity. The vastness of creation reminded me that the heavens shine irrespective of how poorly we conduct ourselves here on earth. My angst vanished against the gauge of nature’s grandeur.
As the moon rose above a nearby ridge, a group of migrating geese flew past along the shore. Their brief but boisterous honking was yet another reminder of nature’s constancy despite our woes.
I think it’s time to inhale air unadulterated by our discontent; time to observe nature in its infinite beauty and complexity; time to recharge, regroup, and rethink . . . in color. The red planet is never closer than 34 million miles from here. Let Republicans go live there, while the rest of us keep the blue planet blue . . . by going green.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
