A Window On The Past

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Last evening, Ol’ Robbo got to spend some quality time in front of the firepit.  Youngest Gel and her friend came out for a bit and made a few s’mores, but I mostly had the patio to myself.  (Although I had spoken here on Saturday of breaking into the Laphroaig, since last night was a work night, I contented myself with sticking to the vino.)

Ol’ Robbo simply loves to sit and stare into a fire, particularly when it’s outdoors.  The Mothe used to accuse me of being a pyromaniac.  There’s probably something to this, but the real satisfaction is at a much deeper (and more wholesome) level.

It comes when considering that people have been staring into exactly the same flames practically since the dawn of Mankind.  This link across the complete arc of human history, when one is in the right mood, can produce downright shivers of awe.

Then I begin to muse about random people along that arc and to wonder what went through their minds as they sat there by the fire: Shepherds watching their flocks by night; the Roman garrison at Hadrian’s Wall; John Bates and his friends the night before Agincourt; a Forty-Niner camped along the Arkansas River.  The possibilities are positively endless.

Just lovely.

On the other hand, this evening was the first commute home in darkness.  Not so lovely.  It usually takes the evening rush a week or two to get adjusted to the time change, and it didn’t help that we’ve have a cloudy, foggy, drizzly day here so it was really quite dark.  Many, many unforced errors along the way, like a baseball team early in the season.

 

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