Last night, Lady Beaver was thinking about some things. About the significance of stoplights, for starters. Or more precisely, the lack of significance they have in the city. Stoplights either abet or hinder you from rushing off to some place you aren't presently at, but wish to get to. Red, yellow, green; stop, go, why aren't you going?? When you're waiting for a red light in Manhattan, you are waiting for Le Man to allow you to rush forward. But Beaver was thinking about red lights in the country side. Waiting for a red light in the pitch black darkness of the woods, on a narrow, looping road. Anything could come out of that darkness. A dear. A sasquatch. A turtle with a sledgehammer. Red lights in the country feel like they go on forever. And what if it did? Would you go?
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