My world is filled with too much hustle and bustle. Voices constantly surround me—those of people, cars, construction, all in a never-ending cacophonous roar. Everywhere I turn, forms rush past me, or I rush past them. A riot of colors and shapes in flux inundate my eyes. I am lucky when it simmers down to a murmur.
At times like these, I like to take a break by aiming my eyes upward. The wide sky never fails to greet my tired eyes. It doesn’t matter if the weather is balmy blue, blindingly white, heavy gray, or a strange blend of all three, with patterns snaking their away across the vast expanse. I get lost in the enveloping embrace, a luxurious spread of cloth that gently wraps around me.
Sometimes the regal lines of the trees weave across the fabric. They stand proud, reach higher than I ever could, but rooted in the same ground that I stand upon. At that distance, color loses its identity. So, too, does dimensionality. In their place, a simple patchwork of shadow puppets stages a play for me, momentarily letting me lose myself in another world—one left untouched by humans. One day I see a village bustling at a market, each individual warmly greeting the other as they engage ins a commerce of unknown forms. When my eyes blink, the scene suddenly changes to two formless creatures battling gracefully, circling each other, extending long limbs of entanglement, dodging pointed attacks. The other day, I saw a family standing tall, gathered together in a still, wordless conversation that went far beyond speech. An audience, equally still and silent, respectfully watched the proceedings.