Metrix X
Ugly Winter Without Snow
“I’ll be right back,” I say. “We’re almost out of cream.” It could have been tea. Or honey or grapefruit, or any of a hundred things. He knows that, but he says nothing. He just nods and smiles. He used to offer to go with me, but by now he knows the errand is just an excuse.
I need this. One or two evenings a week, I need to get out into the widening spell of busy streets. I need to hear other voices and immerse myself in their rhythms. I need to move quietly among other people living their own lives, running their own errands. The percussion of many busy feet on the sidewalk, the strange glow of decaying light, distraction piled on distraction. The balding man picking over the avocados—I love him. The sour-smelling woman in the pleated down coat—I love her. The mother and child bickering about what to wear to school tomorrow—I love them, all of them, with their own problems and crises and doubts and concerns, none of which are mine.
I’ll return in fifteen minutes or an hour, maybe with cream, maybe with muffins. Always with gratitude that the world is out there and big and beyond my comprehension; always with gratitude that my world is here and small and almost understandable.
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