The Language of the Cones

"Sign…Sign…everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery
breaking my mind
Do this…don't do that…
can't you read the sign”
(1970 - Five Man Electric Band)

Big ones…little ones…double ones…single ones…glow in the dark…light up at night…hard to see in the rain…everywhere in this growing Podunk town.

Orange cones…telling me how and where to drive.

Dotting the roads like children playing Builder Bob with Lego’s and Tinker Toys leaving them strewn willy-nilly when the day is done.

Merge Left

Single Lane Ahead


Do Not Block Intersection

Lanes Shift

Shoulder Closed

Flagman Ahead

Watch for Trucks Entering Highway

Road Closed

New Traffic Pattern

A metaphor of this widow’s walk, they pop-up directing me places I don’t want to go.

Cones setting me off on highways I’ve visited more than once in the 3 years I’ve been on this journey:

Tears…sadness…fear…lack of confidence…memories…songs…how do I do this…I can’t do this…dammit, I WILL do this.

I HATE CHANGE…always have. Being a military brat you’d think I’d be used to it. I hated it then…I hate it now. Always moving…always being the “new kid on the block.” Yet, then, as now I stood tough on the outside never letting it show how insecure I was in the changes.

Hang it all…I liked my life the way it was.

But, the way it was ain’t the way it is.

Get up, girl…hitch up yer britches, yank on them boots and keep moving.

“Move down…clean cup…clean cup” says the Madd Hatter to the March Hare at that odd little tea party in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Damned orange cones.