Am away from home, in a hotel room, where the bathroom tiles are edged in Air Force Blue. Night has fallen and trash TV fills the space between the walls; a mild, restful, gaudy background buzz. I am draped or slumped upon the bed; my limbs burrow between a phone, a damp towel, a loop of cables, a winter hat, a blue leopard print umbrella; I am waiting to eat a pot of rice pudding, spoonfuls of comfort laced with cinnamon. Next to me, there is a much-thumbed magazine that I purloined from reception, as a plump young woman with empty chocolate eyes said "Bonne soirée".
I am here, admiring the curve of light falling from the standing lamp, colonizing this makeshift home. The Air Force Blue bathroom tiles remind me of my grandparent's house, the heady scent of the lavender hedges that lined their short garden path. But, nothing else here belongs to me. Anything could happen. There is a freedom in this anonymous expanse, a dreary land where everything is to be invented, again. "Aren't you lonely when you travel?", people ask, I always smile. Movement was written into my childhood and I developed a passion, a taste of wandering, I own a thirst for lone ranging that has yet to be quenched. This borrowed, short-term occupation is my interim caretaker; a fleeting hearth for my frame. Fleet from the old English to flit, to float; in this hotel room the flash of a bird's wing across the sky would have to be called evanescent.
4 comments:
"plump...empty chocolate eyes..." yes! i can totally imagine them saying "Bonne soirée" ahhaha.
ahhh. i always get what you write so clearly, Susanna!
and thanks for whispering in my ears. it's like you read my mind! (i do not know how to continue...) :\.
do you remember John's sister? that time when we all met, it has left a strong impression on her too and we were both marveling at how awesome and inspiring you guys were with how you live your life and the work you do. she has mentioned you when we were talking about her leaving her field of study and wanting to pursue her creative interest (which she is doing now).
i love what you write here about your passion for traveling, "Movement was written into my childhood..." - it makes me think of this line from a movie: Movement is life. it is so true.
Hello dear Mien.
How very lovely to read you here and so glad that you get what I write, those are precious words.
Of course I remember John's sister and our crazy park NY rendez-vous; how extraordinary to have our paths meet, our destinies connect over spoons and words, all gathering...
Yes, mouvement is life...
Neither am I lonely in my borrowed rooms, a traveler at heart, I'm afraid. Lovely post from your makeshift home.
Hello Cynthia,
Lovely to read you here, and to learn that you share the traveller's heart.
There is something about the borrowed room, the airport, train and ferry boat, impermanent homes...
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