The living world
There's an old woman on the sidewalk down at street level, outside my house. Everything she does is a study in deliberation. Slow. Concentrated. Focused.
She's wearing a coat, beautiful and old but much too hot for night like tonight.
Clothing is too hote for a night like tonight.
It's beautiful. Lace, velvet, heavy intricate tapestry, antique.
The whole thing's faded to the non color of great age, but when she moves just right some of the gold still shows through.
I wonder where she's going, what she's doing, what it's like to be in her head. What's it like to be old? What's it like to be that old, with the weight of all those years behind you? How much wisdom has she collected over her lifetime that nobody has the patience anymore to listen to? What's it like to be her?
Why isn't she afraid? The old people here are not afraid. They move slowly, they move deliberately, they walk around all day, all night, and you never see them hurrying, looking behind them, jumping at shadows. They just have no fear of their fellow man.
I wonder why that is? Will I have that when I'm that old? Will I lose that when I'm that old? Will I ever be that old?
I wonder how long she's had that coat. And I wonder why she's wearing it tonight, when it's so hot.
I want to call down to her, just say hello. But how weird would it be for some guy to just holler down from his balcony to some ancient woman on the sidewalk?
I want to talk to her though. I want to talk to her. I want to ask her where she's from, what she's seen, what she's learned. I want to say to her "Tell me what you know!"
But mostly I want to know where she got that coat.
She's wearing a coat, beautiful and old but much too hot for night like tonight.
Clothing is too hote for a night like tonight.
It's beautiful. Lace, velvet, heavy intricate tapestry, antique.
The whole thing's faded to the non color of great age, but when she moves just right some of the gold still shows through.
I wonder where she's going, what she's doing, what it's like to be in her head. What's it like to be old? What's it like to be that old, with the weight of all those years behind you? How much wisdom has she collected over her lifetime that nobody has the patience anymore to listen to? What's it like to be her?
Why isn't she afraid? The old people here are not afraid. They move slowly, they move deliberately, they walk around all day, all night, and you never see them hurrying, looking behind them, jumping at shadows. They just have no fear of their fellow man.
I wonder why that is? Will I have that when I'm that old? Will I lose that when I'm that old? Will I ever be that old?
I wonder how long she's had that coat. And I wonder why she's wearing it tonight, when it's so hot.
I want to call down to her, just say hello. But how weird would it be for some guy to just holler down from his balcony to some ancient woman on the sidewalk?
I want to talk to her though. I want to talk to her. I want to ask her where she's from, what she's seen, what she's learned. I want to say to her "Tell me what you know!"
But mostly I want to know where she got that coat.