This is not a trip for museum hopping! This is a journey across magic cobblestone patterns. An invitation to linger on roadside benches. A chance to count the colors of umbrellas, to ponder the faces, the likes, the gestures of other travelers, to listen to guides and story tellers and nightingales. This trip offers signs - written, spoken, painted, pounded into the earth - and without the pressure of pre-planned activities I let the moment tell me what to do.
Take this bench, for instance. I leaned against it. It was wet, unfriendly, not ready to be in use. Rain puddled in front of it. And when I looked up I saw an unexpected site, your garden house. A tiny spot far away. And when I continued my walk through the Ilm Park this morning, I came across many more benches, each placed strategically for observation.
I saw tree trunks that had formed into strange forms many years ago, and I saw the rise of the Ilm that had happened over night. I was aware of the dangers that might lie ahead. Fire engines sounded their alarms across town, bridges and roadways were closed, the rain continued.
But I walked on and succeeded to find the Roman House (Römerhaus), visited inside, and saw, from, I think it was the blue room, your house again.
Later, after my energy had waned, (I had walked several miles in the rain) I sat on a bench at the Marketplace in town for a while, eating a Thüringer bratwurst, observing others doing the same. Have you ever noticed how serious people are when they eat. I guess one can not smile while taking a bite or chewing.
The day before I had sat on the same bench watching umbrellas go by.
Sometimes, in recent days, I have had the feeling that I am painting my own world with colors that don't belong to me. I am not quite sure what I am looking for and so I get greedy and take it all, just in case I have need for it later. I photograph walls that have been decorated with poetry or anger or sadness. I want them to shout their secrets at me.
And then I look at myself, in the mirror, in a window, and wonder how it feels to be that person who lives, for a short time, in a magic place. A place she will, most likely, never see again. I smile at her and promise that I will gather all her memories and sculpt them into a perfect design.
No comments:
Post a Comment