Among the first groceries purchased Friday and Saturday were a dozen eggs -- two six-packs of big, brown buggers picked up at a stall in a local centro comercial that dealt only in fowl. I pulled one of the packs from the refrigerator a short time ago, thinking of whipping up a couple of poached eggs to take the edge off until the late dinner hour. When I pulled back the lid, a small brown feather popped out, drifting slowly down to rest on one of the new blue kitchen floor tiles.
A moment like that would not seem so surprising in Vermont, where rural life is all around. Here, in a flat in the middle of a sprawling Spanish city, it felt so unexpected that I found myself frozen, rapt, time coming to a near standstill as I watched feather float slowly floorward, tilting on its axis and sliding gently back and forth as it fell, almost as if slipping lazily down a succession of invisible slides before coming to rest.
One of the endless succession of moments that make up this life. Here one instant, gone the next.
España, te quiero.
rws 5:35 AM [+]
Comments:
Post a Comment