The crest of the mountains gently roll out from the foggy morning. A dusty gleam from the sun beams through hazed blue skies onto our face. Roaring with ventilation din, the compartment gives little space to talk. Not that it matters much, since no one seems inclined to do more than rest their head against the window and watch the lines on the pavement fly by.
Looking out the window, the trees, nude without their summer coats, glisten with the newfallen snow. A white scarf casually flicked over each branch. The few that retain their evergreen jacket's stand; Proudly proclaiming their glory and having no qualms about or need for rest.
Pristine ice, blanketed in powder sits on the plains between homes. Each yard a mile across and each mile a field for a childhood. The ground gives way to frozen ponds, but the sheets of ground hold up. The cabins are made, and the fish pulled from their abyssal homes. We are here, and we are hungry.
White plumes, balls of scrubbed industry float into the sky in the distance. Their presence notifies the world: "here we are", there is nothing of concern to those who signed the papers, who approved the buildings. The worries put off for the sake of the now. Ski slopes shine from the clear cut country side and the grins of those who've invested, and those who invest their time bring laughter and escape.
Run away. Someone else will handle it. Is that what we've taught? Hide behind the coattails of ignorance. Turn not the cheek, but the whole face away. Shamed. More and more. Take and take. But whose to give? Where to be taken from? A fire of proud humanity that can't be put down. Commitment to a way of life, to a privileged life. Unsustainable life is no life at all.
Snap back. The miles of highway cut short by the green of an exit sign. I'll get off here. Slip away from the problems, raise the flag, run and look the other way. Whistling as the issues are issued their sentence. Won't fix, can't fix, someone else should do it. There is a choice being made everyday. Stairing out at the landscape on this ride each day, what choices are being made to keep this way? The expression of our time and place here in the world. What will you leave behind you, a trail of personal accomplishments, or a good fight for future?
Looking back into the long moving room. The hills have gone by and the streets are narrowing and busy. Sign to display our stop. Time to get up and leave. Time to stop thinking and go to work. Time to ride.