There was no shade there, none whatsoever, compassionately spread out by the walls to break that scorching ordeal, as if the sun had been petrified in a midday upright position, converting houses and storefronts into a compact row of erect, blazing, rebarbative sameness, and those times into a ceaseless, sweaty, dusty downtown rush hour. Complete with the acrid exhaust fumes and blasting horns of too many vehicles of individual impatience jammed along a much too narrow collective avenue. And she had found herself feeling lost there, like the proverbial, pedestrian alien. Compelled forward by the drone of crowds in impending sting mode, like maddened wasps poked with sharp sticks of stress, along scalding, winding, bumpy sidewalks, in spite of feet turning into the only true core of being, about to distill, from blisters of desperate weariness, the last burning extract of soul through the straps of much too tight shoes.

Yet, she was no alien. She had walked, stumbled, driven, blasted her horn, been pushed and carried through the avenues and sidewalks of other times like that, at what might have looked and felt differently, depending on the season and the angle of the sun, but was that exact same spot. So, she knew of other times like that and of that very spot like she knew of her own feet, from ankle down to heel and on to toe by toe. And she knew, oh, yes, she knew, that all this was, just like her feet, intended to keep her moving on – and learning further with each further step. Because she knew, oh, yes, she knew that times such as this, at this very spot, were just a passage, and feet, like a core of being, were not meant - even when it felt like they were just about to – to distill the last burning extract of soul there. No, there was not even such a thing as the last extract of soul – and the core of being was meant to move on.

And so she did. And, because she knew, there was no actual sense of surprise – but there was, oh, yes, there was this undeniable, unmistakable sense of wonder, as every new step forward thinned out the traffic and the crowds, the impatience and the stress, untied a strap and freed her core from constraints until it followed bare. And healed, blister by blister, along the walkway, gradually cooled, like the avenues, by the benevolent shade of a movement as natural as it is unseen – the movement of the earth, thus of towns, of downtowns, of houses and storefronts, row by compact row of seemingly immobile walls. Under the sun, mollified, and naturally adjusting its angle to the natural movement of all that may seem petrified… and yet, she knew, oh, yes, she was still learning, it is not.

© 2007 by Otsana (Photo courtesy of Flickr.com)

Notice: Otsana is one of several literary characters created by Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®. Discover her profile in the introduction to her first story here, in AD, by following the link provided below. Both the character Otsana and her literary works are © by Alexandra* ~ OneLight*® - All rights reserved