Stephanie, Matthew and I visited the District of Columbia over the Memorial Day weekend. Matthew lives in Springfield, Virginia and is already there, whilst Stephanie, Google and I follow the needle to true north along I-95. This holiday in the Nation’s Capital brings a sea of humanity magnified by endlessly teeming hordes. We are no slouches when it comes to teeming, having gained an advanced degree in teemology on the streets of Seoul, Tokyo and Singapore.
There is something oddly compelling about DC in the early summer. The cherry blossoms have come and gone leaving the hardwood forests of Maryland and Virginia to finalize their slow-motion explosion into verdant shades of green. The heat and humidity have begun to establish their dominance over the land.
The vines and creepers awake in symbiotic determination, and I see honeysuckle plants everywhere. These yellow and white flowers carry their sweet fragrance from the memories of childhood and beyond. As kids we would pinch off the stem and taste the sweet water inside and wonder at the magic the world had made for us.
On the Washington Metro the trains thunder past miles of honeysuckle, hurdling down a gauntlet of yellow and white, tunneling into the persistence of life. The flowers shudder and wave as the train passes, acknowledging mankind’s cleverness and sagely nodding acceptance of our strange ways. I used to think that they were trapped behind the steel fences that line the tracks, but lately I have begun to suspect that it is we who are trapped and the honeysuckle that is free.
Maybe we are not feeling the train move and sway or hearing the banshee squeal of the air brakes. Perhaps instead the patient earth is gliding passed our train as we remain frozen in stasis, watchful and sympathetic behind the glass.
whoisfenton 