1.12.12 So Much Depends ...

So much depends upon a red ... bicycle? Yes, that's right. There are no white chickens in sight, although there is definitely a cock somewhere near that I've heard crowing occasionally, but certainly not with any regularity (I think it lives at the house with the tepee).

This bicycle stands chained to that pole at a certain spot on the island, which I pass every day. Who owns it? Does its owner not care that it gets rained on, snowed on, possibly urinated on, and be battered by the wild river winds? Why is it chained to this pole? Does its owner lack sufficient storage space? Does its owner live in the Northeast area and find it convenient to walk from there to the island, pick up his/her bike, and ride on to downtown from there, so as to get both a walk and a run in every day? Or has its owner, having chained his/her bike here, gone elsewhere and unexpectedly shuffled off this mortal coil (that is, died)?

I'd prefer not to believe the latter. And there is good evidence not to, for the bike, save for a tear in the seat, seems to be in good repair--by which I mean that the tires are fully inflated. Had the bike been left unattended for a long time, the tires surely would have lost some air. But the tires on this bike (a Murray, incidentally) would hardly accommodate a single puff of additional air. Someone besides me is watching over this bike, and I wonder who it is, when or if he/she ever rides it, and whether it will remain where it is for the balance of the winter.

This day was very cold--between 5 and 10 below zero with wind chill factored in, so it was a brisk walk with no lollygagging along the way. Since I have also been busy with other tasks and activities, the contemplative time required for more in-depth blogging was in short supply. I look forward to returning to more substantial posts soon, in which I consider the island and my place on it from different perspectives. For today, however, we must content ourselves with wondering about ...

a red bicycle
standing alone
against a pole
in winter

Life flows on, in and around us--and sometimes when it pauses, without explanation or any obvious cause, we wonder whom it really belongs to.

D.E.S.