January 8, 2025 – John Abrams

Happy New Year to all. I hope your holidays were whatever you hoped they would be—joyous, restful, busy, adventurous, filled with time among loved ones. Ours were all of those. Almost overwhelming, but not quite.

And I hope the year we’ve entered will be fulfilling in all ways for you, and that we will prospect for, and find, Trump-era silver linings.

The last time I wrote—in “We Shall Overcome”—fall was ending. Now it’s winter and the days are getting longer. I like to bundle up and ride my bike on the nearby path and in the state forest.

Some of my best thinking—what there is of it—happens when I ride or walk alone. Nature is the only distraction, aside from the occasional “Good morning” or “Hi, how’re you doin’?” when I pass someone. Sometimes I know the person, but I never stop. Except once, when I saw Pete D’Angelo walking after recovering from two knee replacements. If you know Pete, you know he’d say something funny. He did.

Riding under leafless oak trees, I keep my eyes focused up into their crowns. My peripheral vision takes care of the path and keeps me safe.

I watch for shapes and images. The fractal-like patterns of the branches outline endless pictures. Familiar faces, animals, and architecture—arches, porches, and ruins.

One day I saw a tenor saxophone with a row of outlier leaves that were like fingers on the keys. And a cartoon profile of Mr. Natural, with his telltale backward lean.

A peace sign. Sun rays. Spider webs. Dancing fairies. A ’52 Buick.

I saw a sketch of a bird profile, and moments later I saw an actual red-tailed hawk perched on a high branch. It was big, so probably a female? I heard her hoarse screech and slowed down to observe.

All of these sights and images are fleeting, because I rarely stop pedaling until I’m coasting toward our shed and through the open door. When I arrive, I see my grandson’s little bike and I wonder what he sees as he pedals.

Next time we’re out riding together, we stop. I say, “Look up into the branches. What do you see?”

He says, “Ice cream.”

“Really?”

“Yes, that’s what I want. Can we go back to the house and get some?”

So much for fractal patterns and images. And reveries. Time for ice cream.

Chocolate chip.

What do you see?