It’s still chilly in the mountains, but spring has tiptoed into our hearts at this most feminine time of year… the delicate unfolding of leaf, the first flowering, the bird song. The Maiden.
Meanwhile, on this Mothers Day weekend, I find myself fuming about how much space men take up. The motorcycles without mufflers. The gunshot. The music blaring from the truck. Toplessness! Callous conversation!
How much space do men need?
Does it not occur to them to share?
“I’ve downloaded the Mueller Report,” one announces from the table next to mine. I look up from my book. He and his friends are dressed in leather, sipping coffees.
“He’s a grown child,” the man continues, referencing #45. “He’s never had to work with anyone. It’s always been his way.”
“And he’s used to getting it any way he can,” I might have added, but they weren’t talking to me.
The topic shifted to the Vermont countryside and the route they might or might not take next. “100 or 8,” one suggested.
“It’s a pretty area,” the woman agreed, “but I get to do more sightseeing then you two do.”
“Relaxed attention,” the other man said.
“It’s true,” said the one with the Mueller Report. “I can’t look around much during the week either when I’m driving the truck.”
“It’s the same for me and the bus,” said the other man. “All those little kids on it.”