Broken Pieces and the Queen.

Going on and with life, walking around she picks little shards of broken glasses. Aware that these were discarded mostly intentionally but not always, still ignored by the original owners in either case, she collects them. She collects them not to be nice but just cause it's her nature. This quality of hers was though only present slightly in higher levels innately than others, her daily and early experiences developed and brought it forth so much that it's become a very integral part of what she was or still is. She collects them, wears them like jewels or sometimes puts them in her bag and sometimes does both. Of course, she has her own shards to tend to too. Every single one of them, a labour of love. No, rather like I described earlier it's just her nature. Not a conscious effort anymore, it's become her. Some carved and honed by the right tools and conditions, glow and sparkle shinier than diamonds, while some are just crushed into pieces in the process. No one can tell what's produced and how they turn out to be. Nevertheless she carries and wears them both just as proudly. No, again not so much with pride, but just because that's what she does and is. I think that these diamonds or broken pieces are my perception and to her eyes they are just the same. She picks them up, puts them in her bag or wears them but they slowly get back into her, into what she is and come out again transformed and changed. As she walks by I realize a broken piece drop from me, then changed by her touch and presence but still missed by her. Luckily but gingerly I pick it up and put it in my pocket and may be even wear it sometime.

Silence

The silence with no one around feels great. Being alone now after a day of meeting friends, a few old and most new, is so welcoming. The silence, with absence of any music (which is very unusual for and of me) feels therapeutic. The mental noise of unnecessary comparisons and insecurities raised by those has calmed down now because of the mental exhaustion. It now led to some kind of apathetic peace. The silence created by abstaining from talking to a friend to vent out my frustrations and complaints feels so right. A need to listen to a song had crept in. It's a loud song that I felt needed to listen to at a particularly low volume. I listened to it and now am done. The silence continues as an enabler of the regular minute sounds, the continuous movement of the fake gears of my electronic clock, the occasional bird chirps, the sound of the key placed in the lock and the mechanical click & opening of the door and of course the sound the pen makes as it scrapes against the paper as I write. It's also a silence created by having to think about just what I want to write and nothing else.

The sound of rain.

The sound of rain. The cold but short walk to the bus stop. The little relief to find the coffee shop still open and later a warm cup of coffee in the hands. Another surprise to find that I hadn't missed the bus home. The empty seat at the back of the bus & on the right side of it. There is a reason. The bus always goes in the right most lane and hence the seats in the right half have the best view of the water. Drawing my hood and shielding my eyes with my palms and my face stuck to the window, all to be able see the lake in the night when crossing the bridge. Houses on the lake with a few rooms with night lights on. The wavy waters and the grey foam under the night light. The water splashes raised to the window as the bus speeds. The I-90 bridge, far and floating on the waters, like a string made of tiny lights. The peace and the memories of water droplets dancing on the window panes of the tour bus in Iceland. Watching lights shut down on the deck of a lake house as the bus reaches the other end of the bridge.Notice the girl, who was writing in the bus with her fingers poking out of her half gloves. Watch her get down the bus at the third stop after the bridge. Get down the bus myself at 2 stops after that. The walk to the trail from the bus stop and managing to play a song on youtube before I get there. Then the walk by the stream watching the tiny splashes made by the raindrops. Watching the light from streetlight get reflected on the stream and walk with me. Stopping the song and taking off the hood to free my senses more to take it all in. Marveling at the living painting before me, made just using some muted dark tones of grey and earthy red. Watching how the water in the stream almost looks solid with only a thin layer of water flowing rapidly, speckled by the splashes of the raindrops. Smile as the joy from the whole experience spreads and finally for being reminded once again why I love rain.