Time flows swiftly as a creek when marked by abrupt changes in our natural world. Minnesota is both breathtaking and ominous in the tumultuous month of October. In thirty short days the howling autumn winds will strip the trees naked and bite our noses raw.
Nothing to do in this predicament but doggedly seize every passing moment and breathe deeply the rare air of fall.
October opened unexpectedly today, as I sat with co-conspirator bikenuts and mapped out the future of our neighborhood. We are now an official non-profit with a website, Star Tribune article and growing clout with the powers-that-be. Now even people in Kunming, China could keep tabs on the “bicycle bandits” of the southside.
Post-meeting I wandered into a Mexican market on Lake Street and struck up a conversation with a purple-haired anarchist punk from Mexico City. Enrique had a pretty cool perspective on things and seemed to be quite a culture jammer. It is refreshing to meet people who seem to take freedom seriously. He does silk screens.
Next I biked over to a blind friend’s building in Bryn Mawr for a birthday visit. We ended up watching (she listened) to the Twins’ playoff game. When they won, she and I whooped and wailed and looked for high fives. Unfortunately, the room was full of severely disabled folks with no clue about the game – I wonder what went through their minds as they watched.
The most thrilling moment of the day followed as I wandered down by Bassett Creek and perched myself on an old rail bridge for some quality alone time. The light receded into that mystical evening glow and two boys played catch along the water’s edge – no doubt inspired by the game.
The tracks diverge just beyond the creek and disappear into the horizon. They seemed to suggest decision between two paths – being human, I ponder my own pending decisions, but alas, with no resolution. Sometimes I feel like a bold decision to go back to school for languages or pursue professional urban planning (my two primary interests) would be premature. Each day’s discoveries instruct me on the course of my life’s journey, even as I take on odd jobs and volunteering and wear many hats. You might call mine “self-education” – it’s cheap, though not all employers recognize it. (Even less my parents!)
But thoughts of jobs and study and activism quickly dissipate. For a moment time stands still and the creek follows its lazy course and the wind whispers secrets and my restless soul is calmed.