"Alas," said the mouse, "the world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when at last I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into."
"You only need to change your direction," said the cat, and ate it up. - Kafka
I am listening to "Eighteen Musicians" by Steve Reich.
Outside a clear pane of glass, past a tall green spiky cactus stretching it's arms into blue bird songs
People saunter in early light. A young Indonesian nanny carries an infant, spoon feeding the echo
of white cat paws trailing flip flops,
A young father pedals his son, Fabian, sitting in a small seat, exploring the world with new eyes,
A young bike boy negotiates boredom, an old man wearing tight laces studies the future pavement in front of his old eyes, another old man
struggles with his activated cell phone inside worn baggy green shorts, spinning inside life's little intersection, waiting for a call to save him from poverty, loneliness and abstract metaphors. Life is a metaphor.
Sitting in the sun, a woman across the street spoon feeds her wheelchair mother love. Her mother swallows and smiles, remembering clearly when she did all the feeding,
Children in pink pajamas collect brown leaves, smelling white glowing hibiscus.
Metta.
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