Broken seal
The days are getting chilly, of that there's little doubt. Each day I find myself donning an extra article of clothing — the second pullover, the scarf, the beanie, the gloves, even thick bushwalking socks. The worst thing is they haven't yet turned on the heating in most buildings, it's freezing at home and at work I sit at my desk fully dressed enough to step outside — maybe minus the beanie.
Trudging home, weary and tired from the onslaught of too many small unpleasant things, heart full of rain, face half covered by the scarf, glasses fogging at every breath, I walk looking down, marvelling at the invisible histories of those who have walked here before me. Which is how I come to notice the crackle of blue in the ground. I toe it with my right foot, but it seems sealed into the sidewalk. Pieces from a broken mirror? It is blue and curiously buried into the concrete. How is it that I have never seen it before? I pass here almost every day ...
Thinking that I ought to photograph it before it disappears, I keep on walking. Not today. The camera is with me, but the light and the shadows are all wrong. There is a time for everything, even for things which may be gone tomorrow. And there is a time for each photograph.
As usual, I pass in front of the bookstore. I read the day's featured titles in the window. Sometimes I sneak inside just to have a look around, though today I proceed to walk straight home. Lately I've been coming out empty-handed anyway; I have three piles of unread books at home.
Something is different about the shop today. I stop, trying to decipher why my subconscious tapped me on the shoulder, and stare at the facade for a full second. Usually bustling at this time of day, the bookstore seems lonely and empty, though maybe it's just that it's too dark to see inside without truly peering in. But for the first time in many months, the door is closed.
I hesitate, feeling oddly shut out. Shall I go in? In my mind I see the shelves of books and smell the musty fragrance of paper. No, not today. I have errands to run, I need sleep. I shuffle the backpack on my shoulders and keep on walking.
Today is a not-today kind of day.
Posted by sniffles at October 03, 2003 11:05 AM