21/12/2023
Orion’s Belt
Still far to go.
Dashing through “fly-over” country
Alone on a Christmas night.
The last snow clouds have surrendered their flocculence
To the unpolished gold of a Yuletide sunset.
The snow surprised us this afternoon . . Me . . . and the meteorologists.
The plows have cleared the interstate
But it’s freezing fast and hard.
Even the eighteen wheelers are pulled over
Awaiting their salty salvation.
I have no more decided to end my own drive through the darkening
When . . . Voila! a convenient manifestation.
I pull into the Motel 6.
Ah yes, the Buddah provides.
He left the light on for me.
. . . An heretical affirmation on Christmas perhaps.
The first stars wink from the firmament
As I slip slide into the office
Fermented by the aroma of spent ci******es.
As my old style key is unhooked from the board
I ask if there might be a worldly sanctuary in the vicinity
For a wee dram of sacramental libation.
In another coincidence
It turns out Tony’s is straight back through a fold in the fence
Beyond the frosted pines glimmering in the moonlight.
Buddah be praised one more time.
The pub is dark and wooden.
It’s Decorated by a few fluorescent beer signs,
A string of Christmas flashers
And one iconic print of anthropomorphic dogs,
Cards in paws and poker faced amidst their ci**rs and whiskey.
I pull up a stool and order one of my father’s beers -
No IPA’s nor imported Porters at Tony’s.
The small, tulip-shaped glass clops delightfully on the wizened, oaken altar
As Tony plops it hard in front of me, sans smile or merry wish.
I attend this secular service with three other gents,
All but identical,
Graying beneath their trucker’s caps
And stout in their bulky winter jackets.
They are aligned along the bar
Like the stars in Orion’s belt;
Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka,
Which are ablaze out the big window above them.
And . . . to extend the metaphor . . . I am as Rigel
Affixed below them in the same constellation
A footstep of Orion as he strides through heaven.
These three kings regard this latecomer
Recognize in him another fading nomad
Alone on a Christmas night
Yet hunting some singular, enduring star.
Alnitak nods me a wordless greeting and whispers to our celebrant, Tony
A shot of Four Roses is slid in front of me.
I raise my glass to the trinity in gratitude
They raise theirs to me
And we share a simple yet profound communion.
