November 25, 2006

do you sing when you walk on the road?

Posted in Uncategorized at 9:08 pm by changisme

It’s snowing, and it’s so nice. In a way, the snow is so wet that I want it to be colder, on the other hand, I really don’t have room left to complain, cuz finally, there’s something more interesting than rain… which I actually liked as a kid, maybe because it wasn’t everyday. Having said that, I didn’t really hate snow in Ottawa either, where the whole time I was there, I didn’t spend a single day without either walking on the snow or actually tasating snowflakes.
Maybe snow is just more interesting intrinsically and it’s not all my subjectivity. When I was waiting for the bus, I saw the rythmic passing of the car lights aroused the reflection of the weightless flakes. I felt they were rolling and turning. It’s like they were being stir fried in mama’s wok. The entire city looked so bright all of a sudden, i think the sky was brighter too. Maybe because ithere was more clouds to reflect light on, but I thought… it would be nicer if the clouds were reflecting the light of the snow rather than the city lights. Then I just dreamed of that, and it was beautiful.
I had my hood on when I walked fromthe bus stop to my house, and I sang as I usually do. It felt different because the hood sheltered my voice into m own ear. Singing as I walk on the street was always my doing, even in elementary school. I don’t particularly sing in the shower, but on the street. I don’t know why I do that, it’s not like I want to be heard. I usually sing quieter when there are people around, and Ijust presume they can’t hear me. I think I can’t bare not to sing even though i don’t like being thought of as weird.
The snow, on the other hand just likes to fall soundlessly. I think it’s not that she doens’t have a temper, it’s more that she’s too endulged in her own dancing that she doesn’t easily converse with others. Sometimes though you would feel like the snow is talking some language that you remotely feel familiar with. It’s not the kind of communication like in a picture or a rock, it’s really a living kind of communication. she somehow contains you in her procrastination and temperment. I dont’ think she works very hard to suit your taste as she tells stories, but if you do like them, she does look at your eyes as she streams out the legends.
I wonder if the snow listens to my songs…

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