I’ve been visiting other places with my notebook over the last month. Observing different sounds and watching fields of movement, instead of flowers. There’s so much to see. All those tiny moments of life that have us slipping into reverie.
Between drafting paragraphs for my current project, odd moments slip between what I’m doing. A young businessman wearing bright blue headphones. Two young adults talking in that sweet awkward way; hoping it’s not obvious to one another they’re attracted. A Nigerian woman; her accent lyrical as she rummages in a purple tote, her gorgeous skin catching the light. A cheery workman helping an elderly couple with shopping bags through heavy doors (chivalry in a hard hat).
All these things send my attention on little eddies, a boat drifting into deeper waters (where the good stuff is). It all mingles and guides my thoughts, in ways unseen, so that I have ideas and changes I wish to make and note them quickly. Writers may appear solitary though it’s an illusion. We’re never alone. Even when we’re staring out a window or at a blank page, the current of movement is all around; a cacophony of sounds buffering us on waves. Sometimes we’re able to capture them in a phrase.
Open fields offer a refuge of green, far from the maddening iCrowd. Cafes do the same; offering respite and connection beyond tub chairs and wi-fi. The fusion of scents, languages, music. Styles of hair, artwork, shoes and faces. A whole world crammed into a small space – diverging as a stream does from the roar of the river. Not all fields we wander are green, though all of them are bubbling with life.