Today was one of those days--frequent, for me, a worker-from-home--that I saw no one other than the people who transport or care for my children. It rained all day, with little wind. I kept the front door open. When the trash truck came, I wondered if the workers even noticed the stench from our neighbor's can, the one into which he dumped the contents of his fridge before he moved. Other than that, I didn't think about other people in any kind of sensual, experiential way. The few phone conversations I had were brief and boring.
After supper, we drove to a bookstore and I was startled to see faces behind the windshields of other cars, glimpses of people with dark hair, people glancing down at their radios, people talking to their passengers.
People in cars give the world the unknowing gift of their intimate gestures. Sometimes I can't believe I exist, until I see the motion of another person, a person who doesn't know I'm watching. I don't understand this, but it's true.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment