In a borrowed apartment with second hand smoke wafting in through the window, I am all alone. The quiet could be unending, but sometimes I interrupt its music with songs that boom from speakers. I know that the quiet has stories to tell. Yet, people don’t seem to see that and they desperately fear the quiet. It petrifies them. Never has this been understandable to myself. In the quiet, I can commune with my thoughts. I see things that I would never have seen before.
In the cool of evening with a ramen-filled belly, I went on a walk with my book bag slung across my shoulder. I was accompanied by me, myself, I, and quiet. My ipod was in my bag, but I could just not see the good in shutting out the music of the night. On the bridge where I stopped for long minutes to gaze at the water, many people drove past me, walked by me, ran by me, and rode bikes by me. Perhaps they saw me or perhaps they did not. I cannot really know. Yet, I saw them.
Once when I was sitting upon a rock along the path musing upon the navy blue glitterings of the river, a couple strolled down the lit path hand in hand. They were young. They loved the stars in the sky and the stars in each other’s eyes. I thought they were beautiful with the moon painting highlights in their hair and illuminating their skin. I loved the deep rumble of the man’s voice and giggling response of the beauty beside him. I am not sure what makes me so kindly inclined towards this particular couple perhaps it was because I was comfortable in my own skin and perfectly happy with my rock. As the couple passed by me, they stopped momentarily to stare at some bright speck in the sky and slightly disagree about whether or not it was a planet or a star. I watched them as though I was hypnotized or perhaps watching a movie. As they continued on their stroll, he leaned in for a kiss – just at that moment something writhed in the water of the river nearby causing a noisy disturbance. It stopped the kiss from landing and woke me from my spell. The man’s reaction caused me to chuckle to myself.
The next couple of minutes were spent in muffled giggles and chuckles on my part.
What would you think of this self-same girl sitting on a bench in the middle of a Japanese Garden with a Dr. Seuss book opened on her lap? If you were at the riverwalk at dusk, you might have had the option of forming a first hand opinion. In one of my moments of ponder-ation, I sat down on a wooden bench framed by two full trees. As the light faded, the flowers about me glowed like the magic homes of fairies and the lollipops of dandy lion flower seeds sparkled like mystical wands. I pulled Oh, The Places You Will Go! from my bag and began to read aloud. All nature seemed to listen. It hung on my every word. The quiet was the best audience that I had ever had and even a small rabbit leapt closer. The rabbit startled the quiet, but we soon settled again to the book.
You know, I am a rather ridiculous person. And I think the riverwalk is a rather magical place. For real, I believe that I enter a whole other world when I am walking on those paths.
