The wind is pleasant.
Not cold, not sticky,
Unlike the wind in the summer, or at the beach.
It twists around the humans, walking,
Down the long street.
I’m one of them.
A baby, next to me, in a stroller.
It has large blue eyes.
Wonder.
What lives inside an infant’s mind?
Not the dark scenes
Or flaming fires
Inside ours
I would hope.
My eyes move on
To the woman
Sitting at the bench,
Long, straggly hair
Hand opened to the birds,
Seeds trickling through her bony fingers,
A sad smile upon her wrinkled face,
A story underneath that brown-capped head
Never to be fulfilled
Only whispered to the birds.
My eyes wander
To the man in the car
Shiny head; tiny eyes
Squinting to read
The tiny newsprint
And his hand tapping
The lid of an almost-empty coffee cup.
The straw chewed at the very tip.
My eyes soar onward
To what is ahead
A blue sky,
Green grass,
Nothing different.
Nothing new.
And I know, as I walk on,
That tomorrow everything will be the same.
Only the grass will be a millionth of an inch taller,
The sky a bit bluer,
the car-man’s head a bit shinier
the straw chewed to the nub,
the woman’s hands a bit bonier,
her stories a bit longer,
the baby’s mind somewhat clearer,
it’s eyes a bit wider,
and the wind,
a day older,
but all the more comforting
in this ever-changing world.
I walk on.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 18.11.2012

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
to those who take the truth and run