Bothness

Gone to Europe. And then back.

My father, a world traveler, said it’s so weird how a week after your trip you can sit where you are and think about where you were a week ago.

I get it from him. This fascination with bothness.

I am here but also swirling in me is there. Still so fresh.

Yesterday, a storm rolled in and a layer of ashen white clouds were curling and falling, like steam rising upside down, into the dark blue clouds below.

I can’t help but think how much that resembles our lives. The tiny, invisible swirling of the last book we read, the last person we encountered, the last feeling we had, with what came before it.

Amazing.

How flowing we are despite how settled we appear. Another kind of bothness.

Maybe the two pairs are bound together in some cosmic way. Before & after. Hidden & apparent. Do you think so?

On the beach in Sestri Levante I watched silhouettes of a boy with his mother throw rocks into the sea. I silently made wishes on the splashes. He would never know what he did. How he gifted a stranger a wish. How unknown we were to each other yet bound together by rocks at the bottom of the sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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