Sidewalks have an assortment of stories to tell - ones that
we (will) mostly never hear, but ones that we most easily can, but never see. For often times we are zoomed into our own
stories – becoming one amongst the many, on that sidewalk.
On a winter morning last week, I transformed into being a
reader (from being a story for most part of my life). I zoomed out of my own head, my own story, to
peek into the panoramic world I lived in. I connected; I existed not just with
myself, but with the world around me. Much like the dogmatic world, the morning was
chilly, kinda foggy. The little brown shoes that walked with me were kissed –
kissed by the dew drops. That little index finger was held by a hand ten times its
size – power showed a beautiful perspective.
An old man on a wheel chair basked in the sun. Struggling to
breathe and stay awake, he was surrounded by two men that stood on each side
and a lady who was perched on the ledge behind. She looked tentative, as she
reached out to touch his right cheek – as if to check if he was still alive. He was – being brave
showed a vulnerable perspective.
A young boy (in his
teens), was seated on the white stairway to what looked like an entry to a big store.
With him sat a girl, both facing each other. I slowed down to absorb the moment
they were sharing, he was professing how he loved her so… love showed how it
had a child like perspective.
The zooming out, the panoramic view, led me into a land of
stories, with different people living each one of those. None of them had words.
I read each of them through expressions and counted most of them in steps –
some that were thirty steps long, to some as short as two. They basically ranged from being short – very
short. But the distance that I covered
with each of those was long ...very long.
And each
day I thought I walked ‘only a while’… but there’s so much that happened
between that mile.
