Aren’t we a funny sight, us humans. We walk along the concrete, counting the steps to our destinations while typing on our phones, without ever looking around. The dance of thunder in our legs, as we paint visions of dreams with each footstep left behind.
Sometimes I like to stop in the middle of crowded streets to yell in silence, to catch the daisies of thoughts left by busy patrons, to steal glimpses of the articles in their hands. I wonder if they are thinking about their lovers, their enemies, or the cats they still need to feed.
People pass me on the trains, their eyes never peering out. We are all in our boxes, occupied by little gadgets that assure us we are really alive. But suppose we could capture our moments in bottles. Would life be played out before us? Or would years of ignorance and immobility be projected onto the screen?
Perhaps the scents and sounds and visions we leave behind are never meant to be remembered, maybe it would hurt too badly. Wild roses bare thorns, and we are not a species that enjoys pain … even if the scars reveal truth.
Oh, how lovely it would be to walk along the streets and see one another. To take our eyes off of the screens, and behold such beautiful things. I draw the crows flying above, with even strokes, imprinting their freedom onto my canvas. They do not follow the rules of technology, but of the wind. The sun rises to tell them what dreams are made of, and their wings paint the sunset with those beliefs. Oh yes, how lovely it would be to fly free from our shackles.
But for now, I will continue peering down through my window onto the busy downtown streets. Here in my solitude, I am as hidden as the rest of them.