Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Fireflies

Riding at night, the headlights growing brighter behind me glint off the flapping surveyor flags and off the angles of discarded plastic so that the suburban fields of demolition and development disappear in that dangerous moment of overtaking, in that brief moment in which the world is reduced to the headlight throw and your own meager shadow, the fields furrowed from the earthmoving treads like some dystopian plowshare, the fields staged with highway overpass linkages and sewer system trunks like dying earth abandoned for melted lunar ice, all this disappears and there is only the flickering of these tiny flags and the furtive gleam off plastic bottles, so that in that brief and terrifying moment there is only a field of tall grass and fireflies.