transient

by

snow.jpg  It’s finally winter, complete with flurries.  The cold has come almost as a relief.  I was getting worried that chilly weather would be one of those things I’d have to conjure up from distant memory to accurately describe to my future children.  I’ve always loved winter.  Because, of course, I can afford to.  I grew up sledding.  And ice skating.  And even skiing, never wanting for mittens, coacoa or warm coats. 

Last night, seeking shelter from the cold, a homeless man in Utah crawled into a garbage can.  This morning that can was collected.  I don’t think I need to go into what happened next. 

I read this absurd and graphic news–a man’s life literally thrown away–in a tiny stub of an online article that did not give the dead man’s name.  A transient, they called him. 

Did it make the print edition of the paper, I wonder? 

How horrible and impersonal to end up a factoid, an easy metaphor, to be blogged.

I posted that bit about beggars in India yesterday with a far away place in mind: somewhere where life means something different, something transient, disposable.

Suffice to say, I’ve never felt more arrogant for loving snow.

Update, the man was identified.

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