(Mind You) It's Sunday

My feet are noisy against the paved street, wet from a light drizzle that's been dancing in the morning wind. The air is crisp, but not cold. I am well-dressed anyways, so the dampness doesn't reach my wimpy little skin.

The streets don't look awake yet, even if the morning's well on its way. Mind you, it's Sunday, so everybody's taking their time. I've had fresh bread, cheese, eggs and coffee for breakfast and I've enjoyed a deep sleep in a comfortable bed, something I've been missing over the past few days.

I choose the closest of the bridges that cross over to the old city. Under it, yesterday, laid an empty cobbled pathway empty of noise or people. This morning, the story's completely different. Mind you, it's Sunday, so the market's already busy with housewives and older men with dogs and young people and noisy little kids and everyone else.

Pretty girls are selling bread or fruits among yelling men praising the quality of their merchandise. Couples argue loudly over what type of deli they should get, and from who. Oblivious teenagers embrace, further away from the crowd, ignoring the activity all around.

I feel large and heavy with my bag, and my first steps into the crowd are uneasy. Mind you, it's Sunday so it's a busy time to wander around. But the crowd feels warm and safe, and everyone's just really here to shop for their weekly supply of fresh wonders.

As I start walking, waves of smells invade my nose. Morning waffles, flowers, deli, grilled quails. A symphony of aromas, almost overwhelming, floats around. I stop and close my eyes. I can hear numerous different languages, accents, tones.

I stop at some stalls, just to say hello, enquire about a specific product or buy something. Everybody's light-hearted and looks happy to be here. I buy bread, fruits, and something that looks like a caterpillar but is called surimi crab. And I dream that she's here, holding my hand, with her sparkly eyes filled with excitement. Mind you, it's Sunday so she's probably home, taking it easy and getting ready for yoga. But if she were here, I'd buy her flowers and kiss her by the canal and make sure she keeps warm and tell her things that I've been burning about...

Instead, I just smile, enjoy my last strawberry and slowly head for the train station.

Floating Treasures

His bare feet grounded softly in the sandy shore of a dreamland. It wasn’t night or day, it was blue. The air was still, but the leaves around were waving slightly, brushing the surface of the water that opened before him.

His bag had grown heavy with years of travels, and the belongings it contained, although most of them were treasures, had become an increasing weight bearing down on his shoulders. He laid the bag and his body to the ground, putting them both to rest.

He stayed quiet, his mind emptying over long streams of time. Looking inside, he found himself weary of the road ahead, unable to avoid his apprehensions. He frowned.

Without thinking, almost mechanically, he reached for his bag, like he’d done so many times before. He unlaced the tired fabric and opened it, as if there was something inside which he needed. Feeling the contents only with his hand, he slowly surveyed his treasures.

The surface of the water was traversed with the slightest of ripples, just enough to attract his gaze to the calm, liquid space. A shell had drifted, large and empty, from places unknown to this shore. At its first contact with the grainy sand, it ended its almost motionless journey. His mind wandered back to the bag.

Waves of memories came to him as his hand reached deeper. Some of immense joy and contentment, others of sadness, pain, or doubt. And as each memory came alive, he felt encumbered and restless, overwhelmed and insecure. Heavy.

One by one, he slowly pulled out every piece of memory, feeling it for what it was worth, and placed it carefully into the shell in front of him. Contemplating his treasures out in the open, he thought, would certainly put his mind to rest. The shell became ever increasingly filled, to the point where he felt his whole life was being laid down, like an offering.

As the last memory left his hand, the shell detached softly from the shore, sending the slightest of ripples across the surface of the water. In the moment, he thought of reaching forward to cling to it, but refrained.

His eyes remained with the vessel and its floating treasures, until they dissolved into the fading horizon. And as the last stretches of blurred color were sinking into the sky, something happened. His heart was lifted. No longer did he need to rest, or to bend his mind over apprehensions. He felt the breeze to his face. He felt readier for the road ahead.

He raised his body slowly, giving attention to his movements, listening from the inside. He felt light, refreshed, cleansed. “If only for this moment”, he thought, “I am at peace”.

Turning away from the shore, he took his first steps into a brand new direction. As he was approaching the road, he noticed her for the first time. She moved a strain of dark hair from her silky cheek and calmly looked at him. She’d been there all along, quiet, observing, and also apprehensive at times. She extended her hand, sincerely. He smiled and took it.

As they started walking together, he put his arm around her. Caressing her gently, his fingers noticed a crease at the top of her shoulder.

She’d been carrying a bag, too.

A Minute

Give me a minute. You need a sleepy kiss just there, on the crease at the base of your neck. Just a little minute. And the day’s not even fully up, yet. And I’m not ready to move. And your arms are not letting me anyway, and the tips of your fingers are still playing on my back.

And I want a little tiny fraction of time, stolen from what we’re supposed to do. And I’ll stretch the rest of the day to make for it. And no one will notice.

And there’s still time because I’m not in such a hurry. And the most important thing I need to do, right now, is lie here with you and smile and play and wake you up gently and hug you good morning.

And I’ll get up when you open your eyes, and you haven’t done that yet. You keep them closed and smile and move closer and nudge my chest with your nose and smile some more.

And you make me happy.

Signs

A shooting star
To attract my attention
A telltale song with perfect timing
To start making me wonder
A shape in the clouds
As an answer to my question

Signs I’m not used to notice
Feelings I didn’t expect to emerge
A flow unlikely for me to follow
Leads me here in this instant

Your hand on my back
I caress your hair
We sit under the stars
Both a little startled

Tiny candles and their halo
Softly dance on the table
You whisper little words
Improbable and delicious

I hold you close
And want you closer
Your breath on my neck
Sweeps me away

I’ll leave you in a moment
Both soothed and burning
Shaken, disturbed, delighted
Wanting only to see you again.