Fading into the Winter dreary

Last night, I came home from a borrower's home in Macon, passing several good places to eat, and ended up sitting in an empty Chinese restaurant in Griffin, waiting for a take-out supper, previously phoned in by Cindy. As I sat there listening to the two children of the owners squall at each other in a mixture of Chinese, English and toddler-ease, I stared at myself in the long mirror on the wall across the room. I wondered what other backgrounds in which I might have found myself if situations had been different.

Here I was, dressed in a pair of charcoal grey flannel trousers, dress shirt and tie, cashmere sweater and wool topcoat, clearly over-dressed for the locale, waiting all alone for a take-out meal in a second-rate Chinese restaurant. All I needed was a hit of LSD to make the scene completely surreal.

I tried to place the scene in New York or even Atlanta. I suppose the scene would not be much different. Perhaps there might be more people in the restaurant at this hour, but they would certainly be all strangers to me. Would anyone take a glance at me? Would anyone smile?

No, not a one. I had a conversation with someone recently who had moved to this area from Dekalb County, just like me. He said there was no better place to live. All in all, the place we chose to live was not important. And I suppose that is true. It is not the place, but what you make of it.

Anyway, every day twists the color wheel and the fine tune adjustment on the screen a bit more flurid, a bit more twisted. The world in which I was originally placed, albeit further north and west from here, is so different. The kin and connections I once had are slowly disappearing. My place in the tapestry is now changed. And I do a slow fade into the background every day.

This is a graying background. The landscape is fading into the tans and grays of December, only the blue of the sky provides color to the painting. Otherwise, the lights and colors of the season are artificial. Truly. In a week, they will be gone, and I will sit at my window, staring at the semi-lunar landscape, waiting for the crocus and daffodils of February. The coming of a new year.

Thank God the seasons are eternal. Just when the bleakness of the year drags me down, God allows a field of daffodils to spring up and bring the suggestion of life and his eternity.