November is drawing to its close, so suddenly--or so it seems to me. And yet the skies remain far above and blue, the leaves a wild tumult of orange, gold, and red. I, who am raised in the year-round winter of mid-Canada, where winter began in October and barely ends in May; who have lived in Michigan and scoffed at the Boston snows, could hardly believe that this year is nearly over, and that we are nearing winter.
A friend came visiting the other day, and we went to Arlington Cemetary, as neither of us had ever been. What a lovely view could be had from the top: the Washington Monument far away; Greek Revival buildings white between the fiery trees.
A friend came visiting the other day, and we went to Arlington Cemetary, as neither of us had ever been. What a lovely view could be had from the top: the Washington Monument far away; Greek Revival buildings white between the fiery trees.
On the way, we stopped to contemplate JFK and Jackie O, forever united in death. Later, while wandering in the Tomb of the the Unknown Soldier, we caught the guards changing their post amidst a subtle thunder of clicking cameras. But apart from the beauty of the day, I found it difficult to synch myself to the place's solemnity. Is it because my history do not mingle with those who made their final resting place here?
The longer I live, the more I feel I have no Home. Whether weary or joyful, my thoughts do not fly thankfully to some distant soil, but neither do they dwell upon this glorious land. I don't feel alien, necessarily; more a transient, like a kite without its controlling strings. I can pick up anytime, and travel far, and not feel the reality of change. Even then, as I stood in one of DC's more famous monuments, I found it necessary to mentally pinch myself--yes, I have moved 700 miles, and have a career now, and must plan my future and live and grow old like billions before me had and billions to come.
The longer I live, the more I feel I have no Home. Whether weary or joyful, my thoughts do not fly thankfully to some distant soil, but neither do they dwell upon this glorious land. I don't feel alien, necessarily; more a transient, like a kite without its controlling strings. I can pick up anytime, and travel far, and not feel the reality of change. Even then, as I stood in one of DC's more famous monuments, I found it necessary to mentally pinch myself--yes, I have moved 700 miles, and have a career now, and must plan my future and live and grow old like billions before me had and billions to come.
Maybe I am merely the logical next step of globalization. As standards of living converge, and international corporations multiply, I could as well enjoy my Starbucks here as I could in London, Cairo or Beijing...
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