On the walk down here I finally had the chance to be present in my mind and my body, to participate in this town as an individual, not a member of a group. An old man farted as I walked by. The egg seller sat among his riches, crates stacked by the dozen higher than his seated posture. An antique store shopkeeper sits with his daughter, still wearing her starched school uniform, looking at school photos. A woman's bangles clank exactly in step with her stride, her own personal bandleader. An impromptu director of traffic asserts his force, funneling one car to a parking spot, another to honk a little less, carefully pupeteering a overfull truck through a tight squeeze, then walking on with his shoulders back and chin out. Bangra music blares. A group of old men play cards on a milk crate, one smirking as he smacks a card down with the distinct motion of putting an ace on a king. A donkey yawns; so bored, dumb. Samosas fry. Binidis rival the Japanese flag in the intensity of red and perfection of an exact circle. Tailors stitch.
It feels so nice to walk, on my own.
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Below are my thoughts. Unapologetically, I have tried to capture my observations & reactions with the hopes that the process will help me make better sense of the matters and you, the reader, might smile at some point. Please read with my confession before you: I admit to knowing very little, offer no absolutes or claim of value. Rather, below is an attempt to articulate a slightly different perception of life; a look through my glasses, refracting life in a unique lens on a rainy day.
1 comment:
Walking. The pressure of the air on your skin, the changing smells, seeing the small insects, the houses and the sky all there for you with layers sounds - some human, some animal, some insect and the breeze. Walking with a friend or walking alone and connecting anyway, are life's great and sweet joys. I feel comforted to think of you walking on the earth and taking it all in. Walking.
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