Etchings

It must be cold out. First of all, it is February in New England. Secondly, Jack Frost has etched delicate borders on the inside of all of the storm windows. Jack Frost, another fond memory from childhood. We are all individuals. We are connected to others by an intricate, invisible web of common knowledge. Speak to someone of Abelard and all you get is a blank stare. Speak to someone of Jack Frost and you have made a connection. Jack Frost, Suzie Snowflake, Paul Bunyan, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, and Jesus. They are the highways of communication we in America share. Speak to someone from Sumatra of those things and there is a roadblock on the highway. Most of those things come from childhood. Childhood, a time of innocence and openess. A time of learning to fit in to a society. We are all part of one big village. The term moiety comes to mind but I am not sure I remember the correct definition of moiety. Anthropology 101 was a long time ago and the textbook was sold at a yard sale long ago. Selling a book, the ultimate travesty. There must have been huge book sales in Ashkelon. Reading, the quiet gentle escape. It is similar to watching the Cyclops in the corner in that it is a passive activity but it is uninterrupted by messages of how to burn fat, how to be a massage therapist, and how to change America. Nevermind today's troubles, we're off to see the Wizard! I think I will call him Friday.
I think that I remember almost every book I have read. I don't remember the specifics but there are tantalizing crumbs left from every page. Peter Pan, Mowgli, Horatio Hornblower, and Mua'dib all reside in a special niche. Even R. Daneel Olivaw has a life there.
Still there after all these years: Here comes Suzie Snowflake, dressed in a silk, white, gown.
Tap, tap, tapping on your window pane, to tell you she's in town.