The leaves lie in large piles throughout the city and are soaked with rainwater. After weeks of sunshine, blue skies, and the trees’ magnificent display of purple, red, and orange, it’s now getting dark.
The branches are already nearly bare; after the drought, it’s now raining cats and dogs every day, and the first real fall storm is forecast for tonight. The dark days leading up to Christmas start unusually early here—by five o’clock in the afternoon, it’s already pitch black.
These are turbulent times in which we need more light.
That was emphatically pointed out to me last night by a gentleman who couldn’t see our bikes very well. “She doesn’t have a light on her bike!” he observed, pointing at my daughter, somewhat dismayed by this public violation of common sense. “Yes, sir,” I began with a smile, “we’re still working on it.” (It was the first day she’d ridden home from daycare on her bigger bike, etc., etc.).
He didn’t find that an acceptable excuse at all. He looked angry—very angry—at me, my daughter, and our bikes. “That’s dangerous!!” Um, yeah. “And you’re riding on the street here, too!!!” I glanced around for a moment to see that we were in a very quiet residential neighborhood, with not a car in sight. He just kept going.
And then I got angry. Yes, you need a light. And yes, I know that’s dangerous. But he could have just given one friendly hint instead of lecturing us from on high.
He couldn’t do that. Maybe he was genuinely concerned, but it still sounded different. Having lights on his bike was just too important to him.
On this day, apparently even more important than Paris, more important than being nice, more important than so many other things that really matter. That’s what came to mind.
In the end, of course, he’s right. Okay, sir, I’ll put lights on my bike. Very soon. If only to make things a little brighter for everyone during these dark days.
