01 Apr 2015

Forty Days by gazanson

3/40

Star 4

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[Dublin, IRELAND]
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Dubliners off to work.
The sound of hurrying feet
The same everywhere.
_________

We wake early morning (or is it night?), our brains heavy with sleep, to the sounds of blackbirds, cooing doves and ... the sound of shoes and stilettos hurrying down the path outside our building. The clock tells me it's that time of day -- for some! Situation normal really, except somehow we're removed from it all, free of the imperative to get up and dash off to a desk somewhere. Ah! One of the joys of traveling -- to stand apart from the rush of life, and for a time to be in the world but not of it. To look on with a curious eye, as the rest of the world does what it thinks it must. A chance to notice the sets wobble on stage, the curtains shiver, the lights to brighten or dim. Through the fresh eyes that traveling bestows, it all appears new, fabricated, sometimes plain theatrical. Even as some things -- like the sound of hurrying feet -- remind you that this is your world too.