I find myself wishing for distance from that Wide World out there, My "here" is so very different from your River Bank of a world. Even still, I guess we all strive to make our place to be. Beautiful writing as always D.
Like you, I feel comfort in being in a place away from the Wide World. Even the world of the local grocery store becomes its own little Wide World. Lots of old people live in this valley. One pundit proclaimed 75% are over 65 years old. Today at the store, I see mostly old men and a few younger ones rushing around as if stocking up for the next Armageddon. One woman is dressed in fine clothes, not your typical "person of Walmart." I suspect she is a California refugee escaping the change of culture there. Another woman wearing a mask camps out at the milk display, pulling at the quart bottles with gnarled hands. I try to be patient and finally ask her if she needs help with the heavy jugs. "Oh no, I'm just trying to read the labels." Really, I grumble without my head, turning around with a gallon of milk I could grab at last. Reading the labels? It's milk. It's as if we're all traumatized, still wearing masks even though COVID has dwindled to a bad cough. I don't watch or listen to the news, but peruse the headlines on Google News. My life at home is Camelot, Paradise. Going to the store, though, I feel the Wide World collected there from people who suckle the tit of media constantly.
I find myself wishing for distance from that Wide World out there, My "here" is so very different from your River Bank of a world. Even still, I guess we all strive to make our place to be. Beautiful writing as always D.
Like you, I feel comfort in being in a place away from the Wide World. Even the world of the local grocery store becomes its own little Wide World. Lots of old people live in this valley. One pundit proclaimed 75% are over 65 years old. Today at the store, I see mostly old men and a few younger ones rushing around as if stocking up for the next Armageddon. One woman is dressed in fine clothes, not your typical "person of Walmart." I suspect she is a California refugee escaping the change of culture there. Another woman wearing a mask camps out at the milk display, pulling at the quart bottles with gnarled hands. I try to be patient and finally ask her if she needs help with the heavy jugs. "Oh no, I'm just trying to read the labels." Really, I grumble without my head, turning around with a gallon of milk I could grab at last. Reading the labels? It's milk. It's as if we're all traumatized, still wearing masks even though COVID has dwindled to a bad cough. I don't watch or listen to the news, but peruse the headlines on Google News. My life at home is Camelot, Paradise. Going to the store, though, I feel the Wide World collected there from people who suckle the tit of media constantly.
It's ill-advised to eat pasta in an airport if you can help it. Trust me on that one.
Best wishes,...
HA! Isn't that the truth! And you, of all people, would know my friend.