Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Some kind of lines in the crossway

Watching people is interesting when they're moving so slow.

You can see every small move they make as they approach you, intrigued by your appearance.

You can listen to them for minutes on end as they try to ask why you're just standing there.

You can watch as they lose patience and pass you by.

And all the time, you cannot move, lest you give away your supernatural speed.

Right now, this girl, no older than 15, wearing a black faux fur vest, orange striped long sleeve shirt, faded blue jeans, and cowboy boots, is looking across the street as I type, trying to see what I am staring at.

In truth, I've been watching the current of the wind as it swirls above a spot in the road in front of me, carrying leaves in a graceful dance that inevitably ends in each leaf breaking away to continue its journey along the road, only to be interrupted by a car or a first grader attempting to catch it.

Of course, she doesn't notice it, and is now turning back to me, surely wondering why I'm wasting my time staring at the plain road.  But of course, she can't see things as I do.  I will need to stop typing for a few minutes.

There, she has turned her attention away from me.  I think she commented that I seem like a stalker.

I think I'll move locations soon.  But for another day or so, I can stay here and watch the leaves.