.... that was the idea, that was the concept, that was the hope and the plan. As it turned out, though, after sitting out the last week being sick, cooped up indoors without a voice even as the early spring temperatures soared into the fifties, missing out on ideal opportunities to get out on the bike early, before the spring floods perhaps, even by Saturday afternoon it was clear that I wasn't fit to get back in the saddle yet. Noon became early afternoon, the plan festered, and by late afternoon the idea had lost its legitimacy. Yet I longed to get outside and, motivated by a desire to get to the library and pick up that Antipop Consortium CD I had on hold, combined with a vague itch to take a few pictures of the snow-melt transition before it was too late, I was able to summon the resolve for a walk. It was a great decision. The warm air, sunlight, and water trickling gently into the storm sewers made for a pleasant atmosphere and a true respite from my indoor world of cable news, government-sponsored mass murder and nuclear catastrophe. I only had a vague idea of what I thought I might photograph, but within a few blocks from my door the theme was clearly impressed upon me; I only needed to focus, select, and follow through on the grand opportunity. Yes, within blocks from my door I was seized by that peculiar sensual dissonance that arrives with the first days of spring in the Twin Cities. Before I can elucidate that concept, though, it's necessary to back up a few months, back to the beginning of winter and those first heavy snowfalls. That thick white covering brings a kind of purity, or perceived purity, a sensual purity, to the northern urban environs that nothing else can. It covers everything. It muffles the unpleasant urban noise, It reflects natural light, minimizing the lurid urban illumination. It brings a purity of spirit and purpose even; those out and about are there for a reason, and in spite of the subversion of several pillars of our convenience-based urban American life, people are out, not because it's easy, but because they want to be. People are quieter in winter. People keep their heads down, buried in their hoods. Dogs bark less often and with less brazenness. The automobile, the quintessential urban purveyor of stress and filth, is kept, if even just a bit, in check. That purity is joy. But it can't last, of course, and we begin to see signs of a different world.
So when the early spring temperatures soar into the fifties, the urban walker is gripped by an undeniable sensual dissonance. Yes, all the welcome signs of spring are there: warm air moving lightly, warm sun on the face, people emerging from their winter burrows to rediscover their humanity. But at the same time, all that snow is melting, drifts and bergs receding, retreating, uncovering the evidence: all that urban filth. People start acting squirrelly, almost desperately, behaving oddly before the looming full perigee moon. Yes, it's encouraging and exciting to see that four-month old snow finally disappear, but in the process it lays bare the grit of the urban existence. The glaciers recede, exposing the evidence of our lost civilization: depravity; flimsy, sick consumerism; passive-aggressive attitude toward our own environment.
Of course this will pass; summer green will change the equation, and searing heat will help degrade the detritus. But it's nothing like the purity of a snowy winter. And by the time summer arrives here, I'll likely be in a different place, a place so foreign that it might well turn on end my whole framework of these cycles, of purity and sickness and filth. I can only hope that I'll have a bike to help me navigate that new world, to help me make sense of it.
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