The snow finally had a chance to melt today. For two weeks, we’ve had single-digit temps with snow and more snow. It’s still overcast, though, Chicago doesn’t really see the sun this time of year. As a co-worker who recently moved to here said, “This place is so depressing, don’t you EVER see the sun?”
Sure we do. In Summer.
When the snow melted, I was able to see a white cross planted into the hill of an offramp, symbolizing that someone had lost their life on that spot. Whether through their fault, or someone elses, that wooden cross stands there to remind all who pass that someone has died.
I cleared my thoughts and bowed my head a moment. I may not have known who died, but I felt it was something I should do all the same. Life and death, heaven and hell, I don’t presume to know what happens outside this mortal world. But here on Earth, the only thing we have for certain in death is memory. The least I could do was spare a moment to honor whomever that cross belongs to.
On that note, a few years ago, there was a cross on the side of the tollway I would pass everytime I travelled to Illinois, back when I lived in Indiana. I didn’t give it a whole lot of thought, I do a lot more thinking now than I used to. That says a lot being I was never a slouch in the ’sit and think about random things’ department. Then one time, as I travelled by, I saw skidmarks leading up to the grass, and mud tracks that went right over the now shattered cross. The tracks showed the vehicle swerved in time to miss the overpass and land back on the road. Whether the driver was drunk or road conditions were bad that night, I guess I’ll never know.
Seeing that shattered cross was one of the more morose moments in memory.
Zel-kun out.
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