Birds and
waves and the sun shining through clouds.
That’s what
i saw when I looked out of the window this morning. I hadn’t really planned to
step out of the door right away, with the wind blowing already, or rather:
still blowing. But seeing the birds and the sun, like an installation of
natural art, I just had to get out there, to walk along the bay.
Every
couple of minutes, there was a new flock of seagulls appearing, surfing in the
wind, passing by right above, as if there was a seagull meet-up further down
the coast. As if they all knew something I didn’t know.
Seeing them
brought back the memory of the migrating flock of storks in France, on their
way to Africa. And the flock of swallows at home, gathering.
This fascination
of flying. And of journeys.
After all
the work, this journey still feels slightly unreal. The way a shift of place
changes the own view of things. The way that something that seemed so important
now can wait another day. The way memories pop up, in unexpected places. Like
in the island supermarket, when I picked a pot of Cup Noodles, and the memory
of my first Cup Noodles flashed with it: Ireland that was. English summer
school in Cork. Which also was my first trip by plane. And my first trip alone
to another country.
Another
memory that returned today: while driving across the island, I listened to the
battered CD I brought, “The Human Condition” by Richard Ashcroft. Bought in
India. Played there, on a road through Rajasthan. Which didn’t look that
different, seen like that: dusty fields. A white sun above. All this road,
going.
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