I walk. I walk to the bank, the pharmacy, and the grocery store. I walk to buy shoes, batteries, and presents. I walk to coffee places and restaurants. I walk to the occasional pedicure and massage. I walk to the train. Today I walked 1.3 miles each way to get my hair cut. I walked along a busy street that is frequently a route I drive to travel longer distances. You can drive down a street a hundred times, and you will not see what you can't help noticing as a pedestrian.
Like a cement chair.
I'm a fan of public art. It was very warm today, and it might have been a lovely day to sit in a cement chair in the shade and listen to poetry. The poetry, however, would have to be blasted at Rolling Stones-concert-volume in order to be heard over the traffic.
It seems there's a tradition of stone chairs in my neighborhood. The walk revealed this trio of seats in a sort of no-man's land practically under the freeway.
And this--which I believe is a bus shelter from the WPA era. I have noticed this one while driving by, but I've never really looked inside.
It's roomy. The columns on each side are impressive.
When I returned home, I lay in bed on the heating pad to deliver a bit of therapy to my always-aching neck. The moon was rising outside my window. It looked as cold and hard as stone.
How very Henri Moore. Sensuous, but cold and hard.
ReplyDeleteI love discoveries like that; Or rediscovering something from a different perspective. Cement chairs I guess are meant for lighting - a bit of respite, a short rest, then move along and on your way.
ReplyDeleteI always like falling asleep under a hovering moon like that. A perfect sky high period, punctuating the end of a busy day.
My fingers are walking like keystrokes on a laptop. Had I been driving on the super-information highway, I would have missed this posting. I am glad I decided to walk today.
ReplyDeleteAs always, I find your writing and walking Awesome Possum. I like to say that a lot nowadays... Awesome Possum. My son says I use the phrase too much.
Pax.
Taufiq.