An English Dichotomy

(I have driven from coast to coast across the heart of England and seen many wonders and wonderful things. One particular day, however, struck me especially. I share that day with you here.)

I had a few days off, so I set off East to West across the heart of England on a dark, drizzling, heavy gray day. The country lane, narrow and winding, was pinned in on each side with hedgerows. Those hedgerows were crowded by lush emerald-green fields and lined with skeletal trees, grim sentinels stabbing the weeping sky with bony fingers.

Some miles into the journey I came upon a wide spot in the road sporting a Gypsy van. It was decked out in vibrant colors, side panel braced open, beckoning passers-by to indulge in the impulse to stop for a quick bite to eat. I was unable to resist the bright respite from a dreary drive and discovered the dichotomy as soon as I placed my order.

The Gypsy was scowling, not unpleasant but not at all friendly. He was serving pleasing, delicious food in a surly, begrudging manner. The patrons were mute and gloomy to match the day, eating their portions with glum faces yet appreciating the goodness of their refreshment. The cheer of the brightly colored Gypsy van was completely at odds with the ambience, which insisted on hang-dog posture and unsociable behavior. I sat in my car, out of the wet, eating my pauper's lunch, tasty enough for a king. From there I watched the populace pull in, drawn like flies to a web, feast, and pull out grimly after a satisfying meal.

When I pulled away, it was not grimly but thoughtfully, pondering how we are creatures of our environment, how opposites attract, complimenting or accenting one another.

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Copyright 1998-2004 Colleen D. Bergeron.
Last revised: December 23, 2004.