Momentary Blindness: Aventine Hill

I hear the drips of water as they leave the trees above and fall onto the gravel and the puddles. I feel some of the cold drops land on my skin and my head. The wind comes in waves, every so often bringing in a breeze that causes the trees to shake and whisper and drop more water. A loud crow caws and song birds reply in many different tunes up above me. I hear footsteps on the gravel, starting on my right, passing in front of me, and leaving on my left. More footsteps come and go. Behind all of the noises, the distant blur of traffic hits my ears and blends in to the background. Some voices are nearby. Some children laugh and talk. A man with a raspy voice lectures in an indistinct language. Two people with British accents talk near me and then pass by. The serenity is broken by a drop of rain that hits my neck and slides down my back. An American woman passes by and warns her child, “when we get back to the street you have to get back in the stroller.” The sounds of wheels and feet (and smaller feet) pass by in the direction of the exit. The woman, now farther away insists, “see Emily, Evan likes to get in the stroller.” I hear more wheels on the gravel, this time heavier and louder. The sound grows as they are dragged along in front of me and then finally, I recognize the distinct sound of suitcases rolling on hard ground. I breath in the sweet summer morning air and feel relaxed. The wind sweeps by again and with it the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke. I cough it away and admire how the wind breaths lightly on my face.

(Orange Gardens, 5/28/19)