Some days just feel like other times and places. Like today feels like yesterday, which was raining and cool toward cold, not quite freezing, but with a premature promise of Spring lurking somewhere ahead of us on our journey toward tomorrow. And today's yesterday feels like hanging outdoors in hooded sweatshirts around the picnic table between Johnson Hall and O'Connor Hall dormitories in Dickinson at Binghamton University in 1982. We were cold, enough to be uncomfortable, but it was warmer than the prior week, a bunch warmer, and nobody wanted to go in, to our own rooms, lest we might miss a happening moment, there with our fellow students, with people we were closer to than we would become conscious of until years later; but our unconscious knew, and we stayed, and chilled.
And it feels, in a connected yet completely different way, like considering taking a lunch break from work in 2000, in twenty double naught, from the pressure of the Internet start-up business, out to one of the fast food places down McKnight Road, in the North Hills, north of Pittsburgh; maybe the McDonald's, before they tore it down, razed it all the way to the asphalt, and rebuilt it with white brick that looked all wrong for a McDonald's. But on that day it was still the traditional McD's I had mostly grown up with, those with the integrated arches, not the big out front arches from the 60's, and the red brick. Was it red? It certainly wasn't white. And the food on such a day was fresh but somehow damp, like the air, but not in an oppressive way, just in a suspending way. A way that makes you wait; the green is under there, and the moisture will hasten the departure of the dormancy and the green will be arriving, in all it's vibrancy, but not now, not today. Wait. Go back to work. The sap will flow again, have patience.
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