Sudden Equinox

It’s time, my Daniela said to the other Daniela who was walking with us this morning much later than usual—well after eight, though I myself had arrived at the usual summer hour of seven. I had not understood why no one else was out and about—the sun had risen a good half hour before and it was not too cold out, was fresh, dewy, with a subtle venticello blowing morning light into the leaves, a woman in fluorescent pants sweeping leaves and candy wrappers into fallish looking piles with a rake that made my flesh crawl as it scraped the asphalt so that I wondered why she didn’t use a broom, but otherwise thought the morning peaceful and ideal and in no way sullied for the walk I usually take with my friends who for some reason were not there.

Now I am being told it’s time to shift from 7 o’clock to 8 o’clock or maybe “otto meno un quarto”—quarter till eight, because after the equinox, walking too early, in the dampness, in the cold, could lead to things like arthritis and Parkinson’s disease, certainly colds and sore throats and jock itch and other kinds of rashes and chafing problems. The body is delicate and its relationship to the seasons should be carefully observed. Yes—“otto meno un quarto—Va bene, Cinzia?” my Daniela queries, and I say, No—absolutely, no—there is no way I can walk at eight when I have to leave for work at 9:30—my routine was perfect when we walked at seven.

The two Danielas stop and even the six dogs stop and look at me; the world just beyond the aqueduct freezes behind the misty haze that has not yet melted in the sun just now forming its lemony orb above Monteluco across the valley—all the eyes staring at me glaze over and go solemn as though I have said something downright offensive, even sacrilegious. Even the other Daniela seems a little dumbfounded as though she did not expect me to have it in me—this power to stop dogs in their tracks and challenge not only the dog lady herself, but the very seasons she inhabits and the routines the seasons dictate. What I love about these women is they are still girls, even in their sixties—still trim and agile and buoyant and playful and silly, the other Daniela even giddy with a school girl’s blunt hair-cut and bangs and impish eyes—I always blink twice thinking the fine wrinkles are a mistake, sun damage maybe , but not age; we should all be teenagers. The Danielas wait, the dogs wait, the venticello that has been puffing over the valley ever since I arrived at seven waits as though all were anticipating God’s verdict concerning what to do about my ignorance and insolence.

Tell your students to come to school an hour later, my Daniela lights up with the sure incandescence of epiphany. She is always confident that I over complicate my life by failing to see the obvious.

For a moment I inhabit the world they envision for me—I do want to live by the seasons, eat by the seasons, walk when the light is right and invite the people I love to do the same, invite my students to do the same, model appropriate if not ideal behaviors. I think of the Philosopher Charles Pierce at Hopkins who wrote on the top of his syllabus: "Class will meet on overcast Tuesdays only", and taught for years and years without the administration catching on, spending his sunlit Tuesdays writing his great works in semiotics, founding his principle of “abduction”—the suggestion that in addition to deductive logic and inductive logic there was likewise the abductive boon —manna from heaven, the sudden insight clearly independent of reason and that was the basis of all creativity. I wondered how I’d word my syllabus for this new life I hoped to model. How would one calculate the light of the solstices and equinoxes, how would one further account for daylight’s saving’s time? Would it be possible to use a sun dial and talk in terms of shadow? Could this be my new mission in life—to convince even Trenitalia to postpone trains or put them on a sliding scale according to the position of the sun in the sky—all of which could be calculated to work with some kind of grand schem allied with solar energy .
The Danielas grin at me, confidently, the dogs, too—Usque intensifying her stare, Desiree and Zinzannia so trusting in their regard of me, even mopey Tarontola brightening, and Ambrogino the fuzzy faced mutt and the two Golden Retrievers, Ginger and Fred, and the other bassotto a pelo ruvido named “Bo Bo”—Think Out of the Box, Where There is a Will, There’s a Way—each of them urging me with insistent gazes to make an imaginative leap into unknown possibility. And I know, I know I am cornered for a reason, awaiting the abductive flash that will spur me to greater heights of creativity when it comes to my dilemmas. I trust, I do trust, but for the moment I am just a little bit stymied.

Thank heavens I need only find my way to Perugia two days a week.