I am staying in Plymouth with my father while he recuperates from his surgery (he had a full knee replacement). His house is lovely, on Medicine Lake. However the commute is quite a bit longer than I am accustomed to.
Yesterday night, I was making my nightly commute into the cities, to get coffee, when I saw a miraculous thing. There was heavy snowfall, making driving barely visible. The snowflakes were enormous, and the volume of precipitation vast. It was the kind of snowfall that distributes light pollution into a milky haze over an ominous starless night. In the distance, about a mile ahead of me, there was a glow that far exceeded the nightly haze. It was glowing bright white, as opposed to the orange glow of incandescent streetlights. While approaching it, I was becoming overwhelmed with the idea that something momentous was happening there.
As I passed the point of origin, I realized that it was in fact, a high school football field, with all of its stadium lights on. Initially, I was very disappointed at seeing this. I was hoping for something more mythic. Something dealing with virgins, out of body beating hearts, cannibalism, and things of that nature. I at that moment abandoned my plan to exit at the glow, and I sped readily past it. No investigation, nothing.
Until just moments ago, this was my understanding of this circumstantial situation. Only in the last few minutes of staring into space, did I realize how great my lack of content for this was. Now I am frantically trying to think of why an empty football field would have all the lights on. As I drove by, I saw no one, not a soul or even the trace of recent occupation, or even the hit of intent of future occupation. A totally empty football field. I have surmised that those lights take a certain amount of effort to turn on, and were using enormous amounts of energy. Here I am, sitting in Caffetto, hiding in the corner, thinking that there must have been something to investigate after all.
Tonight, when I drove past, the lights were off as usual. I missed my virgin, my predecessors. I missed my spot light. My chance to see my breath light from every corner of outdoor space in divine crystalline light is passed. I hope the virgin was beautiful and trembling in fear during her last moments on the suburban football field.
With any luck, she will be buried under my floorboards.