Thursday, September 24, 2009

Synchronus Moments of Unintended Beauty

Boolean alphabetImage by Hexadecimal Time via Flickr

SO today was a good day, didn't have to use my AK. I woke up, tired and confused recovering from last night's gaming and the world was one notch better than I'd hoped, just one, no more. I had expected a crashed juggalo on my couch, he was not there. I expected the reason for his absence was shirking the task he had been given (helping a friend get her life together) and it turns out that rather than shirking he had been up since 6am working, the job was already done and everything had worked out. My classes were light and pleasant. My tutorials took half the usual time and on my way home I found a new statue in the university gardens I hadn't noticed before. but this is not what you want to hear. Want poetry or empathy or something. Well on my way past the statue there was beauty.

one of the reasons I stay in this town is I can half fall in love every fifty feet if I just open my eyes and walk. the women are beautiful, unselfconscious and usually quite bright. As I walked there was a bit of perfect moment. I don't know the name of the ballet move but her hands came up in a circle and her head leaned back until her ponytail toched the ground and she spun. She really spun, I had always thought that only possible with special shoes on hardwood floors or on ice but apparently one can do it in converse all stars on the bricks of the university sidewalks. she skipped and moved and danced her way down the street, a black band around her arm containing an ipod. I waved she smiled and winked and kept dancing until she was out of sight. When I got to my destination I saw an old couple, couldn't have been younger than sixty, either of them. They were sitting and both looking variously into each others' eyes and at papers they had, they were both spooning from the same bowl of rice pudding with whipped cream on top. each careful to leave the other the bit of topping until they both took a big bite of half a piece the routine had the grace and beauty of the ballet, granted this grace by what I can only presume to be years of practice. My waitress came with a musical accent, sounding high pitched without being shrill, her voice had the quality of an early disney snow white or cinderella but with a turkish roundness to her tone. On their way out the older lady of the couple patted me on the shoulder and looked me in the eye and said. "Isn't this just the best." You know what. It is.

Next time strip club, I promise.

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]