Vignettes From A Walk

 

Vignettes From A Walk

 

        I am often greeted, on my periodic excursions, by the chilly hand of the winter wind. The nature of its caress bears no resemblance to its icy disposition – for it feels warm and welcoming. As it envelops my being, passing through the gaps between my arms and torso that are both clad in the embrace of my jacket, and around my now-steadying legs, I am carried forth by this invisible, ephemeral friend. Finally unencumbered by what I think is myself, I breathe – and walk.

           While I understand that “pathetic” in this context has no semblance of the feeble or pitiful, my heart disputes the falsity of such pathetic fallacies. When the breeze tips its hat to me, and we proceed to stroll through the perimeter of the colony in a steady entanglement, its tangibility astounds me. Here is a being- albeit unseeable and quite disinclined to converse with me- that is as real as any other; here is my friend. I convey this to you, dear reader, because the dancing air is not my only companion during these jaunts. It must be understood that when I paint these abstract characters with readable ones, they are not merely born out of my necessity for poetic representation, but are portrayed as they appear to my eyes.

…

        My treks usually commence at twilight: I descend my apartment and venture out to find that the blinding sphere that soaks the sky in whites and blues is drying up, retreating, to reveal a canvas of black and purple. The moon, having been cast asunder in the hours past, now reappears to take center stage. I stare up at the dynamic scene above me for a moment or two. As I return to the ground, my legs cautiously propel me forward, following the ‘whoosh’ of my imperceptible acquaintance. I cross the paved inlet into the community and begin my voyage.

…

          I frequently alter my route on such trips. Indulging in these minor impulsive choices is to justify the validity of my own autonomy in my mind. There is, however, an exception to this rule, you see… The inception of every walk is identical: I cross the paved inlet and veer left, strutting past another apartment block in the colony. A pair of italicized trees and an assortment of well-kept bushes pass me by to my left. My presence is subsequently noted by a line of blond-topped streetlamps, rows of diagonal parking spots, and a thick, emerald hedge, before I finally arrive at my first crossroad.

          It is in that passageway of hedges and parking spots that lies the reason for my homogenous beginnings.

          A few feet down that lane stands a battered, rusting, stoic pickup-truck – staring at the wall of mauve flowers that inhabit a part of the expansive hedge; and, it is in these two disparate arrangements of particles that I find two more acquaintances.

          The truck captures my eye first. Unlike the deluge of other automobiles that are in constant rotation throughout the premises, it is rooted at that post. It stands (or more accurately: leans) on withering tyres, reeking of a mechanical death. Shards of glass lay on its hood, like freckles on its visage. If it stood by its lonesome, it would surely be a grim sight. Yet, slouched facing a splendiferous floral arrangement, it serves as the spotlight to an alien beauty. Suddenly, the truck and the flowers are no longer just brushstrokes in the background – they are the subjects of this magnificent piece. It is as if this worn and bitter automaton chose to spend his last days opposite his beloved, for the sole reason that his grotesque presence serves only to elevate her heavenly beauty…

          Now entwined in each other’s gaze for the foreseeable future, they welcome me with wide and sincere smiles. I take a moment to absorb the scene that is unraveling before me, having returned their inanimate politeness.

          I continue to walk.

…

          Some ways away begins the monotonous fence.

          I am quite intrigued by how the seemingly mundane and unextraordinary can bring me comfort. There is seldom a better illustration of this than in the contentment I find when walking beside the roughly six-foot tall, black community fence.
          This is another facet of my strolls that is a mainstay of the experience: I always (at one point or another) find myself parallel to this meandering series of dark columns. Which side of it I walk, however, is subject to my caprice on the day. On the inside, it is a pastoral scenery. My pace is that of an athletic sloth, lest I fail to observe a particular detail of my surroundings. To my right is the fence. Despite the fact that I impose personality onto the structure, I do not see its entirety as the individual; instead, each column that appears beside me seems to personify the one I walk with. The picture is akin to the blinking lights that illuminate an airport runway, guiding the pilot. My mind imbues each pillar with life for mere seconds so that I may have a companion to saunter lazily with.

On the outside, I feel the urbaneness of the world around me. Engines whir past me in a wall of noise; birds do not sit and sing, but screech in hoards; soft street lamps are replaced by blinding headlights and the artificial glow of signboards. The fence dons a new face. It matches my quickened pace with a more steely demeanour. Even in this more erratic realm, I stress no further – for the fence acts as my protector.

          It follows me until the end of the oval colony.

          I bid my friend adieu and continue walking.

…

          By the latter part of the voyage, the sky has completely darkened.

          During this stretch of the journey, as I circle back towards my home, I search the sky for the moon. Many a time, I find it encompassed by blankets of clouds. I am reminded of a passage from an Emily Dickinson poem: “Tell the truth but tell it slant.”

          Even having studied the optical phenomena that cause such perception to come about, I cannot help but feel that my eyes speak to me with candour. I am well aware that the moon is merely a distant hunk of rock, reflecting the Sun’s light. But, in that moment when I look up with wonder at the misty night sky, I succumb to my senses. There is a suspension of disbelief, and I reckon that the moon is now a radiant, cheery embodiment of a dear soul, having shrunk and made its way below the clouds to greet me. Letting myself believe this narrative, the whites of my teeth reflect the pale moonlight as I smile up at it. Momentary bliss ensues.

           I continue to walk.

…

          Throughout this journey, there has been one ally of mine that I, dear reader, am yet to reveal.

          Although its manifestation is not exclusive to these outings on foot, it is most palpable as I waltz my way around my neighbourhood. It is, perhaps, my most beloved companion – sans human.

          Music.

          Even before my exodus from home, it rings through me, and within me. It is with me- by my side- at all times: when I take the wind’s hand and follow it down the lane, when I rendezvous with the contrasting couple locked in a tango of the eyes, when I meander/march with the snake-like fence, and when I leave them all behind to return to my abode…

          It is a personage with an ever-changing face. Sometimes, I see flowing, iridescent beauty beside me as the angelic voices of Stevie Nicks or Christine McVie intertwine with my cochleae. Other times, it is a plodding, grey phantasm – embodying the rough and earthy tones of Matt Berninger or Jeff Mangum’s singing.

          And as the tracks play, one after the other, and I progress along my chosen path, the sounds fill every crevice of my porous soul. This is the accomplice I cannot say goodbye to; thus, I invite it into my home, and listen to its musings until I am too exhausted to remain in the realm of consciousness…

…

          When tomorrow comes to be today, and I tend to my duties as a cell in the human organism, the friends I fabricated cease to be. I do not necessarily miss them, for I shall go on to meet and interact with companions of a more traditional nature, but I feel a peculiar warmth knowing that they are to return.

          And I will welcome their presence with the same unexplainable love with which they welcomed me…