The first day of a changing new year...the particulars of what year, what day, what time seemingly less significant then they have ever been... not because of euphoria or sadness but inertia...is it simply the day itself?...the imposed quietude of each first day of any new year disclosing a sense of stillness in all things...although not completely. In the morning I walked to the riverside park. The same park I have been walking to since my arrival in the city five years ago. This morning the first to wish me greetings for a New Year was someone I have named 'the crooked man'. A small elderly man who walks each morning and who has an obvious spinal disability. I imagine I will ask him one morning what happened to his back. Our conversations, like all habitual early morning walking conversations are brief and direct. In fact they are rarely conversations at all. Comments and observations. Weather predictions mostly. The longest conversation we have had was on the state of the Australian cricket team. Both agreeing that test cricket was the 'real' game. The shorter versions having transformed cricket into a game somewhere grounded between baseball and The Fantastic Mr.Fox's 'whack-bat', I have maintained an admiration for test cricket in these times of instant gratification...a match that can unfold over a period of five days where the outcome can hang in the balance until the final remaining ball is bowled continues to intrigue me. Taking a different way home I discovered a tailors shop at the front of an arcade. From the window I could see a white dress hanging against the wall waiting to be collected. The owners name attached to the hanger. I guessed that it may have been for either a future bride or perhaps a debutante. I'm not certain if it was the shops unkempt interior or the self-preserving image of a white dress wrapped in a sheet of plastic that had begun to gather dust but within a moment a sense of complete sadness passed through me at the thought that this dress would never be collected.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
New Year morning
The first day of a changing new year...the particulars of what year, what day, what time seemingly less significant then they have ever been... not because of euphoria or sadness but inertia...is it simply the day itself?...the imposed quietude of each first day of any new year disclosing a sense of stillness in all things...although not completely. In the morning I walked to the riverside park. The same park I have been walking to since my arrival in the city five years ago. This morning the first to wish me greetings for a New Year was someone I have named 'the crooked man'. A small elderly man who walks each morning and who has an obvious spinal disability. I imagine I will ask him one morning what happened to his back. Our conversations, like all habitual early morning walking conversations are brief and direct. In fact they are rarely conversations at all. Comments and observations. Weather predictions mostly. The longest conversation we have had was on the state of the Australian cricket team. Both agreeing that test cricket was the 'real' game. The shorter versions having transformed cricket into a game somewhere grounded between baseball and The Fantastic Mr.Fox's 'whack-bat', I have maintained an admiration for test cricket in these times of instant gratification...a match that can unfold over a period of five days where the outcome can hang in the balance until the final remaining ball is bowled continues to intrigue me. Taking a different way home I discovered a tailors shop at the front of an arcade. From the window I could see a white dress hanging against the wall waiting to be collected. The owners name attached to the hanger. I guessed that it may have been for either a future bride or perhaps a debutante. I'm not certain if it was the shops unkempt interior or the self-preserving image of a white dress wrapped in a sheet of plastic that had begun to gather dust but within a moment a sense of complete sadness passed through me at the thought that this dress would never be collected.
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