After just a couple days of extraordinarily nice temperatures, the snow is nearly gone from places where it wasn’t piled high. But in parking lots, mountains of snow will melt like glaciers for weeks yet, leaving behind all the litter that was scooped up with it: cans, bottles, wrappers, bags, the occasional spoon, a glove or t-shirt.
It’s a dirty time of year, a colorless time, when the snow, no longer what you could call white, recedes to reveal sad and mushy brown grass, to reveal no flowers blooming, and with no trees budding there is really nothing yet to distract you from the absence of life in this short interim. Except perhaps there, under the soggy leaves in the gutter, where a hint of red peeks out—a rotting pepsi cup, flattened and torn. And nearby a used ketchup packet—a preview, no doubt, of the lush tomatoes I can expect in my garden in late summer. And do I spy a condom wrapper? Indeed, love is in the air as spring begins to take hold.
I took a walk to nearby Crystal Lake today, watched the ducks paddle around in the open water where a third of the lake is now without ice; just days ago there was no water left unfrozen. I sat and relaxed on a bench, and noticed that it had a plaque reading “In loving memory of Larry Murphy.” Of all the legacies to leave behind, or on behalf of a loved one, I think a bench is a good one. To provide people with a quiet spot in a park, where they can stop for a rest, have a conversation, watch the ducks, or just reflect. A bench won’t last forever, but no life or legacy does. It’s also a relatively affordable legacy, I imagine. A park bench is probably something within my means, legacy wise, so I’m going to look into it.
After sitting there a while, I started to wonder about the name Larry Murphy. That’s kind of a stupid name, I thought, almost like two first names, but definitely not as bad as say, someone named Steve Johns. And then I thought, I bet Larry would not be pleased with me sitting here thinking about how his name is kind of stupid, and I felt bad and started walking home, trying to think of some other legacy I might leave behind where people wouldn’t have as much time to let their thoughts wander.
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